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LORD 

I V E L Y 

AN EPIC POEM IN XIV BOOKS 
JOHJS" HEDDAEITS 



And all is well, though faith and form 

Be sunder 'd in the night of fear; 

Wei! roars the storm to those that hear 
V deeper voice across the storm. 

— Tennyson s " In Memoriam. 



NEW YORK 
JOHJ^ B. ALDEN, rUBLlSHEK 

1890 










Copyright, 1890, 

BY 

JOHN HEDDAEUS. 



To Hia Beloved Cousins, 

CHRISTIAN and PAULINE HEDDAEUS, 

this Poem is Dedicated, as a Feeble Mark of Affection and 
Gh-atitude, 

BY 

THE AUTHOR, 
Sing Sing, N. Y., June, 1890. 



IVELY. 



BOOK I. 

Crusading valiant knights among 
Who Richard Lion-Heart had joined, 
And with him vowed, from Moslem hands 
Once more to wrench the Holy Land, 
Was one from Scotland's borders come, 
Sir Ively, Lord of Ively Hall. 
A loyal knight was he and true ; 
His sword, renowned for gallant deeds, 
To e'er so brave a foe was death, 
And many a poor and wretched knight. 
When sorely pressed by curved sword. 
From graveless doom by him was saved. 



6 IVELT. 

One eventide, as was Ms wont, 
Tiie friendly camp behind him leaving, 
In solitude to find repose, 
He walked along the holy shore 
Of Jordan's peaceful rolling waves. 
With fragrance laden, sweetly fanned 
The gentle airs his heated brow ; 
They brought him greetings from beyond 
The seas, and thoughts of wife and child. 

'Three lonesome years I've been from 
home 
And scarcely know, if still I may 
Myself a husband call and father. 
Nor know, if faintest hope there be 
Of safe return to Albion's shore.' 
And looking round upon the scene 
That breathed the calm of eventide, 
' O God, exceeding strange,' he sighed> 
* Within a land of bloody strife. 
This mocking nature, peace profound ! 
Can Love o'er yawning gulfs of faith 



tVELY. 7 

Not throw a bridge for hope of peace 
To travel on ? The cross is raised ; 
But what avails the symbol fair, 
When vice its shade for shelter seeks ? 
Corruption walks the Christian camp 
Aud ev'ry passion is let loose. 
Ah, that a thing begun so fair 
Should ever end so loathsome foul ! 
To free the Holy Land we came, 
And made us slaves to blackest sin ! 
Far better had it been, indeed. 
We'd stayed at home. A cry for help ? ' 
He stops. * Again? Whence may it 

come ? ' 
The words he did not understand, 
But knew that anguish uttered them. 
Distress has but one common tongue, 
'Tis understood the world around. 
He understood it, listened, looked. 
And there, beneath the clustering palms 
Some Christian pikemeii he espied, 
In busy sport engaged, to bind 



8 IVELT. 

To mighty palm the thin, frail form 
Of one who, both by garb and mien, 
An aged hermit seemed to be. 

' Desist ! ' the knight's command was 
heard ; 
' We came not here the old to slay, 
Nor vengeance on the weak to take. 
For it is written — know ye not ? — 
The aged thou shalt honor, and 
The hoary head revere. Release 
To me your prisoner. Obey ! ' 
The pikemen yielded. They had found 
The old man praying 'neath the palm 
On bended knees, as in a trance ; 
But thought it all a mockery, 
And him a spy and infidel. 
To questions as to how he came 
To be so near the Christian camp. 
He answered, broken though his speech. 
In words that bore the stamp of truth, 
That he had lived on yonder hill 



IV ELY. 9 

A hermit's life for three-score years. 
And then witli thanks profuse, the wretch 
Before his liberator bowed, 
And sliowered blessino^s on the head 
Of him whose comings saved his life. 

While to the hermit words of cheer 
Loid Ively kindly spoke, the men, 
In search of better sport, had gone. 
' My worthy father,' said the knight, 
' Go, seek the shelter of thy cell 
And make it — I advise thee well — 
So long as noise of arms tliou hear'st, 
Thy trusty stronghold and defence.' 
Himself about to turn, he stopped, 
For strano^e tlie sio-ht tliat met his eves ! 
His head thrown back, his arms on high, 
A frenzied lustre in his eyes. 
His stature tall as giant's height, 
The hermit stood there motionless. 

' Who art thou ? ' cried the valiant 
knight. 



10 IVELT. 

' Or messenger of God, or angel, 
Oh, answer me the questionings 
That faith now coaxingly invites. 
Then bids me banish from my soul? 
As willow-branch is in the wind, 
Tims am I swayed by faith or fear, 
Nor know, if faith it is that bids 
Me ask, or faith that bids me wait 
For knowledge that would bring me 
peace.' 

But still the hermit, seeming one 
Transfigured, all unheeding stood. 

'Oh, speak !' again the knight im- 
plored. 
'Who art thou? Speak, I thee entieat. 
Deny me not the light I seek ! ' 

As from beneath a screening cloud 
The radiant sun sends forth its rays, 
And, chasing over hill and dale 



IV ELY. 11 

The somber shades, sweeps them away, 

The hermit's eyes to earth returning, 

Their loving gaze on Ively bent, 

And seemed to bring him from beyond 

A message full of hope and cheer. 

lie paused, then said : ' Come thou with 

me.' 
And up the hill, away from camp. 
Both silent, side by side, they walked. 
Through rocky wilds of desert land 
The warrior followed, not afraid 
His unknown mystic guide to trust. 
In solitude, on rugged path. 
Bright shone the moon from deepest skies 
And spread o'er all the sheen of beautyc 

'My Lord of Ively, welcome thou,' 
The hermit in low tones began, 
^ This cave, my house, is all thine own, 
Yea, all I have, at thy command.' 

* My venerable father— '' 



12 IVELY. 

Hermit. — Stay ! 

One Father is there over all, 
Him we adore and only Him. 
To Him alone thy reverence ! 
Thy questionings unanswered are, 
So let them be and bide their time.' 

Ively. — ' Whoe'er thou art, of earth or 
heaven — 
Oh, I entreat thee,' cried the knight, 
' If so thou may'st and canst and wilt 
The dark enigmas solve for me 
That my perplexed soul in vain. 
Before I found thee, brooded over, — ' 

Hermit. — ' Till thy return thy house is 
safe. 
But on returning home, my son, 
Let not thy faitliful heart be bent. 
Think not thy home to see again 
Before thy soul has found its peace 
For such, I know, is lieaven's will. 



IVELY. 13 

Whatever scheme thy wit contrive 
To flee this land and haste return, 
Thy very purpose would defeat, 
And traitor play upon thy wish : 
The good ship's prow, to westward set, 
Would, tossed on waves of stormy seas, 
But carry space between thy hope 
And thee. For thus, my son, it is 
Ordained by Providence all-wise.' 

This said, the mystic hermit ceased, 
And sitting down on mossy rock. 
He beckoned Ively to his side. 
The warrior, under higher power. 
Obeyed, as 'twere, his own desire. 
A strange luxurious lassitude [used 

Ran through his limbs. And he, long 
To rule, now joyed to make his own 
Til at higher will. And, sitting there. 
They measured not the step of time, 
For both of them were wrapped in 
thought. 



14 IVELY. 

At last the knight began to speak : 
' By all that is of Christ in me, 
1 know thou art a holy man. 
1 yield to the divine command ; 
Say on thy say ! I will obey.' 

From stony seat the hermit rose ; 
With holy fire his eyes and face 
Ablaze, he thus addressed the knight : 
'Cast off the plumM helmet's weiglit; 
Thy armor change for lighter wear, 
Thy bloodstained sword for peaceful 

staff. 
Do not rebel ! I know th}^ oath — 
My son, Christ's kingdom cometh not 
By force of sword and worldly wars. 
Leave, then, behind ambitious schemes 
And bid farewell to clanging arms. 
Resolve this hour, and keep thy vow. 
To forthwith start on pilgrimage 
With neither goal, nor Papal script, 
But only this intent ; All hate 



IVELY. 15 

To banish from thy heart for aye, 
And sliare withev'ry soul thou fiiid'st 
By doubt or fear or care oppressed 
The burden of its anxious griefs ; 
To give to all that struggling seek 
The light of God thy earnest help ; 
A brother be to them, a friend ; 
And be thou known as such to all. 
To none disclose thy new resolve, 
Nor bid farewell to thy companions ; 
But when prepared, ask thou the Lord 
To help thee on thy pilgrimage. 
To Eastern countries set thy face, 
And God will bless thee to the last. 
While thus thou journey's t, day by day. 
Keep thou alive within thy breast 
The wish to find on earth a heaven. 
There is a land far up the East 
Where mortals may commune with God. 
This region seek ; but seek it not 
Unguided, nor in wilful haste. 
Across the ocean is thy call : 



IG IVLLY. 

'J'o tune thy soul, that joyfully 

Slie loiul her to the meh)dy 

Of God's unchanging spirit-spheres, 

Against all doubt to fortify 

Thy mortal soul, this symbol take, 

This sigu of prophecy receive.' 

And, saying thus, he took a staff 
From out a corner of his cave 
And gave it to the wondering knight. 

' This staff, a symbol, I thee lend, 
Of grace divine supporting thee 
By promise and by prophecy.' 

Aerain the liffht flashed from his 
eyes. 
Again it beamed white from his face, 
Again to giant height he rose, 
As like an oak erect he stood. 
Pronouncing low each weighty Avord; 
* Be to thy promise only true, 



IVELY. IT 

No power above, no power below, 

Thy hope and thee between can come. 

Far brighter than thy sanguine hope, 

The vision shines upon my sight 

Of things prepared for thee, my son : 

When all around thee war does rage. 

When in the dust of memory 

Proud monuments of hoary days, 

And thrones, once strong as rocks, are 

laid. 
Nigh, then, thy life's sublimest hour, 
The light of heaven will break on thee. 
Slurrounded by the wrecks of time. 
Will out of death come life to thee. 
Will open to thy blessed eyes 
The pleasant path to yonder land 
Where mortals may commune with God.' 

* Like promise of sweet Gospel truth,' 
Lord Ively, rising, made reply, 
' To guide and cheer me on my way. 
The words shall travel East with me.' 
2 



18 IVELT. 

And, rising too, the hermit said, 
As cordially he pressed his hand, 
' God bless thee ! Fare-thee-well ! Fare- 
well! 
When into time's eternal sea 
The circling year has swiftly flown, 
Seek thou again my lowly cave, 
To tell me that thy quest is found/ 



tVEir. 19 



BOOK II. 

To camp returned, on sleepless couch 
Lord Ively tossed his weary weight. 
Conflicting thoughts arose in him 
Of honor, home, and wife and child. 
A thousand cherished fond desires 
Invited him to sta}^ in camp. 
But ever stronger would a voice 
Assert itself within his breast. 
And of that voice the bidding was : 
' Go forth I Obey the hermit's call !' 
Then, silently he rose. The sword 
His wife had girded round his loins, 
He with a sigh laid down ; undid 
The buckles of his warrior coat. 
And lighter vestments now assumed, 
A simple robe, tliat worn by men 
Of peace, the Eastern devotees. 



20 IVELY, 

Some gold he took ; all else to Ralph, 
His trusted servant's care he left. 
'Mong sleeping men, like stealthy thief, 
With careful feet he lightly stepped — 
And found himself outside the lines. 
Now lighter breathed he, as he sped 
Along the holy river's bank : 
' My choice is made. O God, I go, 
Not knowing where, but only ask 
Th}^ blessing on my lonely way. 
Almighty Helper, grant me Thou 
The sweet assurance of Thy grace.'* 

Some hours he had pursued his course, 
When brightening dawned the Eastern 

sky; 
Oil, ecstasy of new-born morn ! 
Symbolic miracle of light. 
Though oft-repeated, ever new I 
With bird and beast, with hill and dale, 
With river, flower, shrub and tree. 
In breathless awe, the pilgrim hails 



IVELY. 21 

The coming of another day. 

Till eventide he travels on, 

Sees to his left the Moslem camp, 

When suddenl}^ his feet are stayed. 

A distant clamor, frenzied shouts, 

Arise tumultuous in the air. 

The cry, '- To arms ! the Franks ! ' is heard. 

With clattering noise the vale resounds, 

And wildly rings the camp with arms. 

As lightning flash, in midnight wrapped, 

Illumines to the dazzled eye 

A landscape wide in one short glance, 

Thus rose in Ively's startled mind 

Each circumstance of his exploit : 

That he was flying from the brunt 

Of battle, leaving friends to fight 

The cause to which his word was pledged ; 

Remembrance of the promise made ; 

His pilgrim-vow ; the hermit's presence ; 

A dee[) and overwhelming awe 

Of hiq-lier thino^s in dimness seen. 

He must not stay ! The turmoil grows, 



22 IV ELY. 

Is drawing near ; the furious shouts 
Of hot contending foes he hears, — 
He almost knows the voices heard, — 
The ' Deus it vult,' hears the Turk's 
' In God alone is power and strength ; ' 
' Adjuva Deus ! ' crieth back 
The Christian host, and, ' God is great,' 
The Moslem's louder cry is heard. 
' To God be praise,' * Is great, is great/ 
In mingled echoes rises cry 
On cry. His heart beats quick and fast. 
The stream he fords, now gains the shore. 
And fainter, fainter, as he sinks 
Upon the bank, comes from afar 
The tumult to his drooping sense. 
It dies away, and all is hushed. 
The light grows dim, it fails, is gone, 
And night enshrouds his drowsy eyes. 

The hosts of heaven over thee, 
Sleep on, thou weary soul, sleep on I 
Eternal melodies of song, — • 



IVELY. 23 

The holy river 's sacred tunes, — 

Beguile to list'iiing the still scene, 

To hear the joyful word of God ; 

' Peace be on earth, goodwill to men.* 

May sleep new life in thee instil, 

While sing to thee the holy waves. 

And mighty rocks receive a tongue 

To carry on the heavenly lay : 

Eternal is from God, the Lord, 

Our song of love, goodwill and peace. 

Begun of old, when man began, 

We give it to the sun and air. 

Far to the worlds of unbound space 

They bear it, on untiring wings. 

To life once born in earthly form, 

To new begotten life of neons, 

Their voice sliall come and be received 

By raptured ears of blissful souls. 

To all the blessed voice must come, 

By all will be received the lay, 

A hymn of joy, the song of old, 

The song the holy river sings, 



24 IVELT. 

And sun and air and rock repeat : 
'As prize ye heaven, ye sons of God, 
Let the eternal good prevail, 
Let there be peace ! Let there be peace ! 



iVELY, 25 



BOOK III. 

The bright'ning morn of coming day 
Met Tvely's gaze and cheered his heart, 
As on the hill's steep side he reached 
A far commanding eminence. 
His sluggish feet, here must they rest. 
To send before them, as their scout. 
More swift than they, his raptured gaze. 
Thou fair Damascus, city-queen ! 
O wonderful, enchanting sight ! 
Who can thy beauty see unmoved ! 
Low down the valley, out of mists. 
Now fading fast before the sun. 
Their gold regilt with brighter gold 
Than art of man on them bestowed. 
The heavenward-pointing, towering 

heights 
Of scattered minarets arise. 



26 IVELY. 

Above the crowns of verdant trees, 
Begemmed with heaven's first light thej 

shine 
Like stately masts on em'rald seas. 
Ravines, and gently sloping hills. 
And massy rocks of richest hues, 
Enclose this earthly paradise. 

O'ercome with glory never seen. 
Not e'en when fairies weave and baild 
For weary sleepers wonderland. 
For some short moments he forgot 
The world and all its cares and woes. 
And entered into God's own thought 
Of beauty, harmony and love. 

' Ho ! stranger, ho ! Look well and long ! 
What seekest thou among the mists ? 
The twiefs, I thought, were all at rest 
This bright and glowing morning hour ; 
But now, thy vagrant glance to read, 
They're riding on the morning air. 



IVEL r. 27 

The twiefs are thieves ! Take care I 
Lest with thy wits they run away ! * 

Quick turning round, the knight 
beheld 
A comely figure, richly clad ; 
About his own, at decades three, 
Not more, he guessed the stranger's age. 
Deep set in nobly-modelled head. 
Dark, speaking eyes were these 
Whose gaze was resting on the knight. 
And every feature, cut and shaped 
In symmetry, betrayed descent 
From ancient race and noble blood ; 
Told of the battles they had fought, 
Told of the victories obtained. 
Both in the field and in the heart. 
But Ively little thought of this. 
As he looked on the stranger's eyes, 
He only saw his jeering smiles, 
But did not see the kindliness 
Behind a veil of shrewdness hid. 



28 IV ELY. 

Ill took he, then, the stranger's sneers t 
' Safe in my keeping are my wits. 
The spirits fear the light of day, 
Tliough darkness brings them not to me. 
But if thou'lt tell me where to find 
A hospitable inn or house. 
Where love or money buy a meal, 
Tliou'lt guess and help my purpose on.' 

Stranger. — ' A pilgrim art and speakst 
of money? 
Know'st not the custom of the land ? 
Come, trust to me. True as I live, 
I'll give thee counsel 'bove all price.' 

Iveli/ — ' The city smiles so fair on us. 
Wilt thou not be my guide and guest ? ' 

Stranger. — ' The city is a dangerous 
snare, 
Beware of it. Or wouldst thou try 
The virtue of its famous blades ? ' 



IVELY. 29 

The knight still doubted. Were it 
wise 
To such a crafty host to trust? 
Impatient grown, in mocking tone, 
' Go to, go to,' the stranger said. 
' Tis ever so. The rattle sounds, 
Ilu.sh, flies the bird straight in the net. 
And then ' — his hands made sign so deft, 
A fowler might have envied him. 
' Go to, go to ! my pretty bird ! 
Thou wilt repent of it too late. 
Tell them, 'twas Gar that told thee so.' 
His warning uttered, scornfully 
He left the knight. Some minutes sped. 
Irresolute what part to take. 
The pilgrim's eyes still followed liim. 
Tlien by a sudden impulse seized, 
Loud called he after his \^q\y friend. 
And, having soon appeased his gall, 
He climbed with him through bush and 

brier 
Up to a peak of neighb'ring height. 



30 IVELY. 

They sat them down on mossy bank ; 
And, Ively's thought divining, Gar : 
' There was report, not long ago, 
That England's King had taken sail. 
And peace was all but sealed ? ' 

Ivel^. — ' Not yet 

Has Richard left the camp ; but peace, 
Both armies being tired of war. 
Seems more than ever near at hand. 

Discussing with him peace and war. 
The knight found time to scrutinize 
The features of his strange companion. 
Though sadness there with shrewdness 

paired. 
It was a fair, an honest face — 
He marvelled at his former dread. 

' Forgive my curiosity,' 
The noble Kurd addressed the knight, 
' Dost know the dangers, thou, a Frank, 



IVELT. 31 

Must run in Moslem lands? Indeed, 
Each step of thine is on the brink 
Of hungry yawning deep abyss.' 

Gar's candor touched the tender chords 
Of Ively's heart. Without restraint 
He made recital of his vow, 
His pilgrimage, its purpose, end. 
' Whate'er the risks and dangers be 
Of which thou biddest me beware. 
Of heavenly assistance sure 
I fear them not. God is my shield.' 

With here and there, a nod, a smile, 
Intently listening to his tale. 
Gar kept his eyes on Ively fixed, 
And having his adventures told. 
The pilgrim-knight leaned back like one 
Who is expecting a response. 
His host remaining silent still, 
' Though death be round me,' Ively said, 
' It cannot change my firm resolve ; 



32 IVELY. 

And therefore — let me now depart ; 
I have ere now the Moslem braved.' 

G-ar, — ' Ah, go thou may'st where'er 
thou wilt; 
But pray thee, go not thus from me. 
That I have neither magnified 
Nor multiplied thy dangers, this, 
Ere many days has strutted East 
Thy pilgrim staff, thou'lt surely find. 
Despise thou not thy new made friend. 
His only wish — believe his word — 
Is but to give thee fair advice. 
In creeds we differ. What of that? 
The peasant ask thou how to plough. 
The painter how to use the brush. 
The weaver teach thee run a loom, 
But of Al Gar thou may est learn 
The manners of the Moslem land 
And how to safely traverse it.' 

Solicitude, unwonted, strange ! 
Lord Ively looked at him perplexed. 



IV ELY. 33 

And sitting down again, he said : 
' The wise to hear, becomes the wise. 
What is it, thou wouldst have me do ? ' 

Gar blushed and sighed : ' Call me not 
wise,' 
He said, ' for wise is he alone 
Whose ev'ry word and deed accord 
With heart and conscience. Not so 

mine. 
Here have I been these five long years, 
Mj heart, as thine, longing for home ; 
But not like thee, was I by vow 
Or solemn obligation bound. 
A mother's aged days to cheer. 
And mine with hers, I might have gone, 
I should have gone. Yea, home re- 
turned. 
A father's place I might have filled. 
And o'er my sister's tender youth 
Have watched, a loving guardian. 
Ah, the delight, I might have found 



34 IVELY. 

Ill such employ ! But, faster bound 
Than is this rock to mother earth, 
I could not tear myself away. 
How oft soe'er I'd set my mind 
Andsa}^: ' Enough, I must return,' 
Some influence more strong than I, 
Would play with me, my will pervert. 
And make me do what I would not.' 

There was a pause ere Gar resumed : 
' I may not yet disclose my ends, 
As thou hast done to me — ' 

Ivehj. — ' No need — ' 

(rar.—' Perhaps, there's not. Swift 
time will tell: 
The hour has come at last, when fate 
From tliis inertness wakes me up, 
Bids me undo the mystic knot 
That fettered me. Fair Bagdad claims 
My presence first.' 

And musingly 
He passed his hand across his brow, 



IVELY. 35 

Then, looking at his guest he asked : 
' If thy intent I rightly learned, 
Thy journey's drift, no goal prescribed. 
Is toward rising suns ? ' 

Ivelt/. — ' E'en so. 

Beyond the Eastern Ocean lies 
My pilgrimage and destined goal/ 

The Kurd rose from his mossy seat : 
' My company wilt thou accept ? 
Then twofold luck of wedded lots 
Join we in one adventure's risks, 
That, thus united, they be less.' 

The friendly hand, held frankly out. 
The pilgrim grasped with joy unfeigned 
And ' Gladly I accept,' he said. 

Gar led the way. 'Neath fragrant 
shrubs, 
A. rugged path the two pursued 
To where the ridges lower sank 
And melted gently in the plain. 



^0 IVJ^LY, 



BOOK IV. 

The quiet night for journeying, 
The busy day their time of rest, 
Avoiding cities and man's face, 
Tlie}^ traveled on. His gentle guide 
No more distrusting, Ively left 
To him the task to plan tlieir route, 
And followed him Avhere'er he led. 

At last they reached the arid plain 
That parts the waters. East and West, 
And much were they rejoiced to meet, 
About to start across the sea 
Of sandy waves, a caravan, 
lliat would for gain or piety, 
In commerce or in pilgrimage. 
The perils brave of scorching suns 
Or pilfering Arabs. This they joined. 



IVELY. m 

Their bargain struck and ratified, 
They go on board their desert-ship, 
The growling camel's rocking back. 
In slender file, the path along, 
Through sandy regions, dull and drear, 
Through treeless wastes, they travel on. 
From night to night, without a break, 
Reluctant meets the tired eye 
The brightness of a glaring sun. 
That once again, by prophet's word. 
Seems stayed in its revolving course. 

The travelers' eyes court drowsy sleep, 
When, lo ! the camel's hastened step 
Has brought them to a resting place. 
Already are kind hands engaged 
In drawing water, fresh and sweet, 
For thirsty man and tired beast. 
He knows not yet the good of life. 
Who never through the desert went 
His lonely, weary, endless way ! 
Knows not the ecstasy of rest 



38 tVEL^. 

That, from the camel's back released, 
The weary wanderer enjoys, 
As he reclines on dewy ground. 

Soon burns the crackling, social flame, 
And there the pilgrim's eye must join 
The playful game of fiery tongues. 
Must sparkle with their ruddy glow, 
Must, darkening, to sleep return ; 
Then with the playmates start again, 
And follow all their frenzied freaks 
Of merry glee and gladsome mirth. 

Unbidden come, beloved guests. 
Sweet visions, pleasant to the mind ! 
Of things gone-by and things to come. 
And, ah ! of things ne'ermore to be, 
The airy phantoms come and go. 
Two worlds move round the pilgrim- 
knight : 
The one of flesh and blood and breath. 
To him is only emptiness ; 



IVELY, S9 

The other, clothed in webs of thought, 
Is real, past all price, to him. 
It moves his heart, his pulses fly ; 
It fills his eyes that open stare 
And see, as 'twere, by second-sight; 
The very heights of heaven he mounts, 
And in that sacred trysting-place 
Of fondly longing, faithful souls. 
He finds the love himself doth bring. 
By mystic power of gift divine 
Returned, it gains in strength and grows. 
The tender thought, the solemn vow, 
Of happy days in times of yore, — 
Sweet rivulets of memory — 
To rushing streams of love are swelled 
That, breaking bonds of long restraint. 
Pour forth in one strong surging flood : 
This is the pilgrim's wedding-day. 



40 iv£:li\ 



BOOK V. 

' Though by the moon, 'tis but a month, 
It seems an age, since we set out 
To cross this ocean waterless.' 
'Twas Ively spoke. Him Gar replied : 
* The news long looked for is most sweet. 
They say this night we shall arrive 
At Bagdad town.' 

As sings for joy 
The sailor come in sight of port, 
So joyous were the travelers, 
As they the river's bank drew near 
That once upon a time had laved 
The Eden of the guiltless pair. 
' Here is my home,' said Gar with pride, 
' Here shall I spend my days in peace, 
For earth affordeth not its like. 
Here is my home, here all I love. 



IV/iLY. 41 

And thou wilt stay a month or two, 

Ere thou take sliip for Bussorah ? 

Oh, say, thou'Jt stay, my mother's guest.' 

But Ively's zeal forbade consent; 
His vow and promise to fulfill, 
lie must go on without delay. 
'Mid such discourse of friendly tilt, 
They reached at midnight's solemn hour 
The city 'Of the Khalifs ' called. 
And thankfully, their journey o'er, 
They laid them down to welcome rest. 

But short and dreamful was Gar's 

sleep. 
The dawning light shone mildly in, 
As through the door he stepped and 

breathed. 
In long deep draughts, the morning air. 
As bridegroom, on his wedding-day. 
For duty tardily performed. 
The sluggish rising sun would chide. 
Gar cast from 'neath his knitted brows 



42 IVELT. 

Impatient looks across the stream : 

' Thou'rt slow, O Sun, to usher in 

The day,' he said, ' that brings me joy 

Dost grudge me then my happiness. 

The tender motherly embrace. 

The kiss from gentle sister lips^ — ' 

He stops. For tremulous there come.; 

From near and distant minaret 

The miour's long-drawn solemn cry 

That summons man to think of God. 

And, as obedient to that call, 

(xar bent him low upon the ground, 

Out of his turban's twisted fold 

Tliere fell a tiny silken purse. 

A shudder running through his frame, 

* Disastrous omen ! ' muttered he. 

' A dark foreboding stirs my soul, 

Of ill a strange presentiment.' 

Replacing in its hiding-place 
The pouch,. 'Ah, worthless dross,' he 
said; 



IVELY. 43 

' Five years away from home and kin 

Was greedy price to pay for you ! 

Foul usury of beggared heart : 

Five years of misery, the price 

I paid for these poor glittering gems ! ' 

His morbid fancies to dispel, 
He pictured in his mind his home 
As he had left it, years ago. 
His features brightened with his thouglit: 
' To maidenhood the baby grown, 
Our Lola will scarce know her biother ; 
By every promise, fair she'll be 
As the gazelle that steps to drink 
At bubbling crystal woodland spring. 
Ah, me ! Too long I've stayed away ! 
But mother, she will be the same 
Forgiving, h)ving mother heart; 
She'll recognize her only son ! 

Thus murmuring to himself, he went 
His friend to rouse : ' The niglit is spent. 
Proud Bagdad calls thee to admire 



44 IVEL r. 

Her royal beauty. Let us pay, 

Her Majesty to satisfy, 

The queenly tribute due to her ! ' 

They walked the narrow street along. 
Now pointing out some stately mosque, 
And then some palace-bordered square, 
Much pleased with his surprise and 

praise. 
Gar took the knight to arched bazaar. 
No crowd was there. At early hour 
The sellers many, few as yet 
The buyers were. Among the heaps 
Of household goods and implements. 
Of mats and silks and cloths and gems, 
The merchants sat and shouted loud 
The praises of their varied wares. 
No victor's triumph ever graced 
A sight so rare and beautiful ! 
For not of angry, blood-stained sword 
It spoke, but eloquently told. 
In thousand pleasing shapes and shades, 



IVELY. 45 

Of rattling shuttle, busy loom, 

Of blazing foige, the anvil's sound. 

Of cultured fields, their crops and trees: 

Of busy hands, and happy homes, 

It told a most enchanting tale. 

To please, he said, his womenfolk. 
Gar bought some trifles, and again 
The pair went on, content to be 
Glad witnesses of Bagdad's pride. 
But, hush ! with one accord tlieir steps 
Are stayed. For, clearly to their ears 
There come sweet alternating notes. 
First, plaintively entreating words. 
And then, rejoinder, earnest, calm, — 
A slave-girl's simple song of love ; 

(^She') Gentle taps ! 

Well-known raps ! 

'Tis my sweetheart at the gate I 

Shall I go ? 
Yes or no? 

I§ it thee, at hour so late ? 



46 IVA'LT. 

(^Ile) Sweetest love, 
Turtle dove, 

Hast thou bjilm for bleeding 
heart ? 

Oh, once more 
Ope the door 

To thy lover ere he part. 

Lift thy face ! 
One embrace ! 

Duty bids me leave my own. 

QShe) Ah, my woe ! 
Must thou go ? 

Wilt thou leave me thus alone? 

In far lands 
Stranger's hands 

Fondling will thy brow caress. 

Drear is life, 
Sad its strife, 

Now is fled my happiness. 



IVEL Y. 47 

(j^e) Fiery surge 

Gold must purge. 

So must passion's fire burn 

Hearts that throb, 
Beat and sob, 

Till a peaceful love they learn. 

In vain the Kurd tries to conceal 
The deep emotion shaking him. 
The knight's : ^ What is it moves thee 

thus ? ' 
He answers by ' Good God, it is — 
It is my sister.' Ively looks. 
The girl is risen to her feet. 
Illumined by the sun's first ray, 
A rosebud kissed by nascent light, 
Slie shines in all the tenderness 
Of her incipient womanhood : 
A sylph-like figure, clad in robe 
Of innocence, transcendent fair. 
She stands a moment motionless, 



48 IVELY. 

And then, as by the morning breeze 

A rosebud 's waved upon its stem, 

Her head on slender neck she turns, 

And meets her brother's anxious gaze. 

She knew 'twas he. By every line 

And trait of his fair face, so much 

Like hers, she knew, beyond a doubt. 

That it was he, her brother Gar. 

A deepening glow, a flitting blush, 

O'erspreads her bosom, neck and cheek ; 

But for a moment rests her eye 

On him, and then, with quick restraint, 

Her taper finger on her lips, 

A tremor in her voice, she sings. 

In deeper notes her lay resuming: 

(^e) Words of passion 

— Common fashion — 

Shall not our last meeting mar. 

Far or near, 
Ever dear. 

Tho« wilt be my guiding star. 



IVELY. 4^ 

Gar quickly tore his friend away. 
Heed not the girl ' he said. ' Beware, 
A look betray us.' But ere they left, 
His sister knew she would be freed. 
A feather in liis mouth, she'd seen 
Which playfully he had entwined 
With thread of gold drawn from the 

cloth 
He had this morning bought for her. 
Rejoiced she made reply to him ; 
For one hand on her bosom laid, 
The other on the arrow's point 
That through her raven locks was 

thrust. 
Make haste ! ' the answer said and 

read. 
To Ively wondering. Gar explained : 
She is my sister — is a slave. 
Scarce can I yet believe it all. 
In vain I try to understand. 
O heaven ! that I should find her thus ! 
Some profligate by cursed scheme 
4 



50 iVELY. 

May have enticed her — Ah, * make 

haste,' 
She said. Dear Lola, haste indeed 
To break thy chains I'll make, e'en 

though 
I sell my body for thy price I ' 
' My purse— Lord Ively had began ; 
But Gar: 'Tliat were our friendship's 

right 
Abused,' quick interrupted him. 
' No, no ! I think I'm rich enough.' 

Abruptly leaving Ively, fast, 
As anxious feet would carry him, 
His steps he to the quarter bent 
Where mask of misery must hide 
The wealth fell tyranny might crave ; 
There sold he to a Jew the gems 
He had that very morning cursed ; 
And ere was called the noontide hour 
Fair Lola, locked in Gar's strong arms, 
Paid him in tears her ransom-price : 



IVELT. 51 

' As comes the after-rain, thou com'st, 
With fervent wishing much desired ! 
Madst thou not come this day to save, 
Thy Lola thou hadst seen no more ! 
Rascal la spoke the truth for once, 
In telling thee that I was sold 
To Fakili Haroun, this the night 
I should be to his liarem brousfht. 
I saw myself the bargain closed, 
And then I vowed, hardship and shame 
I would endure — dishonor, never ! ' 

So much to ask, so much to tell. 
The ear gave to the tongue no rest, 
Nor tongue to ear. The knight, discreet, 
Would have withdrawn ; but Gar : ' Sir 

Knight, 
A house divided 'gainst itself. 
Thou knowest, cannotstaiid. Stay then.' 
Right willingly consented he ; 
For sweet as sunny April day 



52 IVJSLT. 

Fair Lola's presence breathed on liim 
The charm and freshness of her soul. 

His eyes dilated, head erect, 
Sat Gar at Lola's feet, and gazed 
In those dear soulful eyes of hers, — 
Fair mirrors of a world of love. 
Had he forgotten her, when once 
He said, the world held naught for him 
To lose or love? Who knows? Who 

knows? 
Or had the precious pearl of good 
Slipped from his weak and shaking hand, 
Dropped in the vinegar of life. 
So fast dissolved, 'twas lost to him ? 
Alas ! a tyrant rules the day ; 
It makes of heroes cringing slaves 
And lashes them through thorns, to cut 
Their fretful way to fairer fields. 

Gar. — ' Where may I our dear mother 
find? 



IVELY. 53 

Thrice have I asked thee, thrice in vain.' 

Lola. — ' Our mother is not here. She 

IS — 

g-ar. — ' Oh, where is she ? At Darish- 

man ? ' 
Lola. — ' At Darishman ; yea, even 

there.' 
G-ar.—' She's ill. I know it by thy 

looks. Oh, tell me.' 

Lola : — ' She is well, quite well.' 

Q-ar. — ' Tears in thy eyes ? Ah, she is 
dead!' 



54 IVELY. 



BOOK VI. 

As spread the sinking sun his glow 
Far up the cloudless, liquid sky, 
He sent through gilded lattice-work 
His warmest tints of rosy hues. 
And kissed the maiden's blushing cheeks, 
Fair Lohi's, lingering still with her. 
As one from whom he would not part. 

By sympathy received and given. 
Each closer to the other drawn. 
The three again had met, and sat. 
Of mutual kindly love assured, 
United in the heavenly bond 
That binds with chains, as iron strong, 
As roses sweet, as heaven eternal, 
According souls, and makes them one. 



IVELY. 55 

Her brotner's brow, caressing stroked 
The loving sister, as she said : 
' Rememberest thou at Darishman 
Two brothers, Fakih Ahmed one, 
The other, Khidder ? ' 

G-ar. — • ' Bebbeh's sons ? 

I well remember them. At school 
While Kaho Hassan's earnest speech 
To us a herd of heedless boys. 
The Koran's mysteries explained, 
'Twas Ahmed, Bebbeh's son, the proud, 
Befriended me, e'er took my part 
When stronger boys their freaks would 

play 
Upon the weaker Gar. He left, 
A malcontent, our tribe, the time 
Our village had been sacked and burnt 
By Bulbassis?' 

Lola, — ' That is the man. 

And as his fortunes are in part 
Our own, of them shall be my tale ; 



56 IVELT. 

And surely a more wondTrous one 

No story-teller ever told. 

At Bagdad had we lived" ar year, 

As known to thee, in peaceful ease; 

When on a raw and miny day — 

r see it all before my eyes 

As if it were to-day — we heard- 

A knock and learned that Ahmed was 

Without and claimed admittance. Glad 

To see the long lost friend, we run. 

Receive him, as our hearts inclined. 

With joy unfeigned. 'A cheerful glimpse 

Of Darishman, our dear loved home, 

I look in your dear faithful eyes. 

And love you better for its sake. 

And Darishman for yours,' he says. 

* Gom'st thou from there ? ' we ask, ' oh 

tell 
Thy servants how it goes with them. 
Long have we hungered for some news, 
But since that luckless day, our ears 
Their f^^stto bf Qak have vainly^ longed*' 



*I share yowr fast. To foreign lands 
My star has led me ever since 
I left the village. West I went, 
The armies joined I 'gainst the Franks, 
And Allah — may his name be praised ! — 
To mighty deeds my swoi-d has steeled 
And given me all that I could wish.' 
Then urged rvve him his wars to J;ell. 
And was there ever hero found 
That would the welcome task decline? 
Cheered by the thought of hissuccess, 
He finds new zest in ventures old, 
Finds present joy in sorrows past. 
His dangers, feats of arms performed, 
His vict'ries won, his honors gained, 
Anew before his kindling mind 
III glowing vision grateful rise. 
Thus spoke our guest, and as he told 
Of Prankish foes come 'cross the seas, 
Of cities by their hosts besieged ; 
Of pestilence and ravages 
By fearful fires and famioewrou^t. 



68 iVELY. 

We sighed, and thanked Almighty God 
That we were spared the woes of war. 
Alas ! that knowledge of it all 
Should come to us who knew in part ! 
Of this anon ; first, then, I'll tell 
How Ahmed, fired with warlike theme, 
Made this discourse : ' For five days past 
To single combat liad the Franks 
A knight of theirs sent out, and he 
For five days past, had kept the field 
Against the flower of our brave men, 
Had overthrown and slain them all. 
At such disgrace rebelled my blood, 
I made it known, 'twas my resolve. 
The foe to fight, fierce though he be. 
Obedient to Providence 
To fall or conquer, win or die ! 
Our worthy chieftain, having heard 
Of my intent, straight sent for me. 
" What country art thou from," he asked. 
"Wilt thou, a novice in the field. 
The dreaded Frankish warrior fight ? " 



IVELY. 59 

"Such, if thou wilt, is my desire; 
For none but God's decree avails. 
And better hope there's none than this." 
The answer pleased him ; for a horse 
And arms he sent me to my tent 
And wished me fullest of success. 
I ran my course, o'erthrew the Frank, 
And then — what think you, happened 

then? 
Upon jvlighting — what surprise ! — 
I found my fallen enemy 
An English maiden, young and fair. 
And, lifting up her azure eyes 
Beseechingly : "Oh spare my life ! 
As true as Keighan is my name, 
I'll gladly," said she, " henceforth be 
The wife of him who conquered me." 
And there, as in that face so fair 
I looked, my heart with love was touched 
I raised her up, made her my wife. 
Of feasts prepared to honor me, 
Of royal favors, not a few, 



60 TVEL V. 

I modestly make uo tulo. 
But, for the sake of truth, I'a say, 
Tliere never was such shouting heard 
As shook the air, \v lieu I returned. 
'J'he miorhtiest boweel low to me, 
And humbly smiled upon your guest 
The lordly Sheik, the proudest prince. 
'* Thy valor, Ahmed," said our chief, 
*^ Needs not my praise to set it off: 
The Moslem honor thou hast saved ! 
That I bestow on one so brave 
Whate'er my power and land affords, 
I ask thee, name thine own rewaril." 
The village of fair Darishman 
I claimed, and had it given me 
With all its lands and rights thereto 
In perpetuit}'. "Hadstthou 
Demanded Kurdistan, my son, 
Thou should'st have had it," said the 

prince ; 
"But as thy modesty forebore 
To ask for thy desert, I UOW 



Create thee Bey of sovereign power." 
'Twas meet, we to our Bey should naake 
Obeisance ; but he raised us up, 
And mild, as was his wont, he said : 
* Our parents were true friends of okl ; 
Such iriends, I trust, are we to-day. 
Ah, more of you stand I in need. 
Than you oi me, this very hour. 
For far from happy is my spouse, 
A stranger in a foreign land 
Whose tongue grates harshly on'herear, 
Wbose customs battle with her own. 
The barb'rous ways of sea-girt isles. 
Fiom loneliness, ior want of friends. 
For fancies such as Franks may have, 
Slie's sick for home. She sighs antl 

moans, 
And will, I fear me, hreak her heart, 
If cure I find not for her ill. 
In such distress 1 you implore 
To speak to her such soothing words 
Of kindly cheer and sympathy 



62 IVELY. 

As woman may to woman speak. 

A kind physician be to her, 

I pray, if any love you bear me.' 

' And you consented, did you not? ' 
With anxious look Gar questioned her. 

Lola. — ' What heart were fashioned to 
resist 
Such tender pleas as pressed his suit ! 
'• There's no one,' added he, ^ that might 
Like you, be to my foreign spouse 
At once a parent, sister, friend.' 
A day our mother asked to make 
Reflection, at its close,, consent 
She gave, and we set forth. Sad day, 
It was ; for evil came of it. 
But should I call it evil ? No ! 
That is not evil God ordains ! 
His name be praised ! Four happy years 
We made our stay in Ahmed's home. 
Like angels in the seventh heaven 



IVELY, 63 

Where thought of sorrow is unknown, 
We led a peaceful, joyous life.' 

Remembering the days gone by, 
Fair Lola lost herself in thoughts ; 
There was a long and painful pause. 
Gar tried to speak ; his tongue refused, 
And silence gloomy filled the air. 
To break it and their thoughts divert, 
Lord Ively asked : ' And what became 
Of Ahmed's bride ? Was she content ? ' 
Her vision quickened, Lola spied 
The secret of her brother's heart, 
And grieved to have unwittingly 
Aroused the demon of remorse. 
She dried her eyes and said : 
' Yea, so it seemed to us and all ; 
His bride elect to cheer and please. 
Unbounded was her master's zeal ; 
To flatter every fleeting whim. 
He'd stop at naught. To gain a smile, 
A gracious nod, a ^Thanks, how kind,' 



m: IVELY, 

He'd make each frivolous desire 
The stepping-stone to new-born wish. 
He smiled with her and wept with her; 
Nay, when in icy rage, the storm 
Its fleecy mantle spread o'er earth, 
On mountain pass whose dangerous 

brink, 
In summer e'en, the herdsmen shun. 
To hunt the bear, he'd ride with her 
And laughing call it sport of sports. 
His ardent love, by look and deed. 
By thought and word, made manifest 
At length her chilled heart, it seemed. 
Had thawing warmed to wifely love ; 
And happier their union grew. 
As in the two succeeding years. 
She bore him lovely children twain. 
But wisely has tlie sage pronounced i 
The veil that hides a woman's face, 
Is not so dense a shroud, as that 
Which cunning wife hangs artfully 
O'er secret wish she entertains. 



IVELT. 65 

One day, out on a lion-hunt 

Had Ahmed gone, she stayed at home ; 

In perfect rest of sultry sun 

The village lay, and not a soul 

Was seen abroad, when — ^speed of fear — 

On foaming horse, a rider flew 

Through the deserted street. ' The foe ! ' 

He hoarsely cried, ' To arms, to arms ! ' 

Was't fear did bind in fetters strong 

The warlike men of Darishman, 

Or that the bi*avest of his men 

Had gone with Ahmed on the hunt ? 

Was't lack of one to lead them on 

And that our danger stretched the time ? 

I cannot say ; but long it seemed. 

As from the roof where we had fled. 

The hostile swarm we saw approach^ — 

Of ours, alas, saw we not one ! 

But mutt'ring in her native tongue 

Some fearful words — of curse or prayer — 

Down to the stable Keighan flew ; 

Her horse she mounted, seized a lanc^ 



66 IVELY. 

And fearless clashed against the host ; 
Threw one, their chief, a second one, 
A third and fourth ! A fifth, a sixth. 
Reeled in the sand, ere we could think. 
The others, seized with sudden fright. 
Their horses sharply wheeling round, 
They fled in hot and heedless haste. 
Nay, hardly was there time to heave 
A sigh of deep relief, ere all 
Was past — a dream. And then began 
Tlie men to fill the market-place. 
Loud praising Keighan's heroism. 
They bound the vanquished men. 
But Keighan : 'Men of Darishman, 
She cried, ' Tis true, my life I owe 
To Fakih Ahmed ; but, at last. 
That which I've long been wishing for, 
His mercy to requite, has come 
To pass : I've saved his house from shame. 
I leave you now, leave 3-ou and him. 
To never, nevermore, return. 
Would you avoid the deadly hurt 



IVEL Y. 67 

Of Keighan's lance, I you command 
You must not follow me. But give 
To Ahmed this my last farewell: 
Not living, in his arms, again 
May he, a Moslem, Keighan hold, 
Who is a Christian ! If life be dear, 
To follow me, he must forbear. 
For much I'd grieve to harm the man 
Who spared when in his hand, my life.* 
Thus speaking, to astonished eyes 
She vanished on her rapid horse. 



68 IVELY, 



BOOK VII. 

The sinking sun saw him return, 
Who, flushed by the exciting chase, 
Was all aglow with joy and mirtli. 
Ah ! little knew his gloomy fate 
Good Fakih Ahmed, spouseless spouse. 
He heard the news ; yet neither wept 
Nor uttered moan nor angry word. 
The noble hero, Fakih Ahmed. 
Without dismounting, on he rode 
Full speed, the path along, she'd taken. 
Alone, as he desired, he went. 
And left us, watching his return. 
The dreadful night wore slowly on, 
We waited, waited. Morn came on. 
But yet no Fakih Ahmed came. 
In trembling fear, still keeping watch-, 
AU eyes are turned to yonder gorge 



IVELT. 69 

Where we had seen him disappear, 
When, down the roadway, suddenly, 
A deafening shout, discordant yells. 
From hundred husky throats we hear. 
And, terror-struck, we look and see — 
The foe returned, a numerous host, 
He is upon us ! Worse than he. 
In unrelenting clutches holds 
Pale terror — spectre dread — our men. 
For shelter to the houses fled. 
There, by the weeping wives urged on. 
Through the protecting walls they pour 
Their arrows' volley forth like rain. 
From housetops send they shaft and lance 
On fearful errand. All in vain ! 
For thund'ring, crashing, crushing, beat 
Against the doors their battering ramr 
With ev'ry blow, with ev'ry crash 
Of broken beams and shattered gates. 
Goes forth the enemy's fierce yell. 
Rise up to heaven the shrieks and cries 
Of men and women doomed to die. 



70 IVELT. 

Brave Khidder, hearing them, one look 

On us he casts — a flaming glance 
That even now my soul does scorch, 
And for our people's blemished fame 
Still mantles in my cheeks the blood. 
' Ho ! Open ye the gate, you men ! 
Now, follow me ! Beliind us, quick. 
Ye women, close the gate ! ' And : ' On ! ' 
He cries, as fearless, sword in hand, 
He dashes in the thickest throng. 
Against his little band they rush 
And press on it in fierce assault. 
O'er all the tumult, clear and loud, 
' To me,' he shouts, ' come one and all ! 
Ye men of Darishman, come ye !. 
Ye would not in your houses die ? 
Come out to me, to figlit and win !' 
Alas ! but few can hear, and few 
The brave that hear and follow him. 
Surrounded by ten times their count, 
They soon are overwlielmed and fly. 
But Khidder, bravest of tlie brave, 



IVELY. 71 

Mine eyes yet see, aniid.st tlie host 
His sabre wield and cnt his way 
Through bristling lances. Right and left 
Both man and beast, as grass, he mows. 
Ah, there ! he's down ! — Is up again ! 
Blood on his breast — he staggers, falls ! 
What else did happen after that, 
I know it not. When I awoke 
From senseless stupor, it was night ; 
Around were faces new to me, 
Their prisoner I, and soon to be — 
What, thanks to thee, I am no more — 
A slave.' 

G-ar. — 'And mother, saw'st thou her ? 

Lola. — 'Yea, once my captor's hearts 
w^ere moved 
To pity by a mother's moans ; 
I saw our mother once, but once, 
To see her never more on earth. 
A tender blessing on her lips, 
A prayer to God for her dear son — 



72 IVELT. 

Her gentle spirit sped away 
While still my arms enfolded her. 
Oh, grieve thou not, my brother dear ; 
'Twas Love Divine did call her home.' 

Then, rising, ' Thou hast suffered 
much,' 
Said Gar, his sister's hand in his ; 
' Though no complaint thy lips escaped, 
It rends thy brother's heart to think 
That one so young, that one so good, 
Life's drearest agony should know. 
But Khidder, tell me, is he dead ? ' 

What was it passed through Lola's soul ? 
As looks despairingly and stares 
The widowed wife on dreaded sea 
That swallowed up her dearest hope. 
The man she loved, — thus Lola's eyes 
So deep, so sad, now on the past 
Looked back ; pale grew her rosy cheeks, 
* My brother,' would she say ; but strong. 



IVELY. 73 

And stronger than her trembling will, 
To utter word, deep pangs oF pain 
Forbade, and shook her heaving form. 
From quivering lips, as ashes white, 
A stifled sigh was all she breathed, 
And in that sigh was Khidder's name. 

Accuser of his guilt, that sigh, 
Gar felt it to his inmost heart, 
As plaintively, his eyes in tears, 
' A worthless brother have I been,' 
He said, *a selfish, worthless son. 
Oh, to have left you thus alone ! 
Much I desire thy story all 
Some time to learn. But not to-day. 
I could not bear its burden now. 
But tell me what became of her, 
The heartless mother, faithless wife, 
And wanton cause of endless grief ? ' 

Lola, — *Some say — if the report be 
true, 



74 IVELY. 

I cannot tell; but, like it is, — 
That Ahmed on that luckless day 
Overtook her in the valley called 
Khidheran, pleadingly implored, 
Entreated her by God and heaven, 
Adjured her for the children's sake 
She bore him, to return with him. 
Ah, vain endeavor, wasted breath ! 
'Tis said that, restless, through tlie lam 
He's wandering, still in search of her 
So all unworthy of his love.' 

Gra7\ — ' He will return, rest thou :i.s 

suied. 
But Keighan, hast thou heard of her ? ' 
Lola. — ' Not e'en a word. But, be i* 

fact 
Or fancy, passing through tlie street, 
Among the thronging crowd, I met 
A pair of eyes, the like of which 
Is seldom found in Eastern climes. 
As cold as cloudless winter skies. 
They are as beautiful as they : 



IVELY. 75 

Such eyes were hers. A distant charm 
Their azure depth upon us smiles, 
That now would seem us to invite 
And then forbid too near approach.' 

Gar. — ' At Bagdad was't thou sawe.s*^ 
her ? ' 

Lola. — * Yea, near the Basrah gate.' 

Grar. — ' And when ? ' 

Lola. — ' Three days ago.' 

Now to the knight 
Gar turned his spirit-flashing eyes : 
' What thinkest thou of this ? ' he asked. 
* Which of the two wouldst rather have. 
The Moslem's true and tender love 
For her, his heart had chosen, or 
The Christian's proud fidelity 
To faith that serves her faithlessness ? 
Which of the two thy succor claims, 
The Ahmed who forgives and loves, 
Or Keighan, neither wronged, nor hurt. 
Who husband, children, home, forsakes ? ' 



76 IVELT. 

''Tis not for me to judge, the knight, 
' 'Tis not for me to lose or bind ; 
But, pray thee, do not blame her faith 
For fickle Keiglian's heartlessness. 
Nor measure English trust by hers : 
E'en noble trees bear gnarled fruit. 
But Gar, could we the woman find?' 

A bright'ning glow spread o'er Gar's 
face: 
' We can, if she still be in Bagdad ? ' 

Iveli/. — ' If so, and we could gain her 
ear, 
For noble Ahmed's sake and yours, 
(Do thy intent I guess aright ? ) 
I'd try divert her from her course.' 

Gar,—'' Thou guessest right. A coun- 
tryman, 
Thy counsel might prevail with her. 

it?e?y.—' But tell us, Lola, what thou 
know'st 



IVELT. 77 

Of the unhappy orphaned pair, 

The children, thou mad'st mention of ? 

Zo?a.— Both safe and sound at Darish- 
man ! 
Too young, to be of any price. 
They both were, after short advice. 
Left by the Ghouls, — at fall of night 
Found by their nui'se, when, quiet all, 
She crept from out her hiding-place. 

Ively. — ' Then, let us haste ! Set thou 
to work 
To find the woman,' Ively said. 

Gar. — ' Ere fall of night has sent to 
sleep 
Another day, shall it be done.' 

' God speed ! ' the knight said anxiously. 
Some power within him, strong as 

strange. 
Seemed to be urging Ively on. 



78 IVELY. 

' It is a task of peace', he thought, 
' That well becomes my pilgrim garb.* 

* * * * 

By Lola's story kept awake, 
The pilgrim heard in hush of night 
The lovely maiden's tuneful plaint: 

'' When fall the solemn shades of nigrht 
From care the busy toiler rests. 
When fades in dusk the rosy light, 
lie sits beloved friends amidst 
And ev'ry heart is light and bright. 

In dreamy shadows, I alone 
The dreary past cannot forget. 
Must in the peaceful vigils moan. 
With lonely tear and sight lament 
The grief that mine is, mine alone. 

The die is cast, and lost my lot ; 
On earth I have nor joy nor hope. 
Of palsied life the fettering knot — 



IV ELY. 79 

As captive breaks his hateful cliain — 
O, heart, my heart, why break'st it not ? 

Wliy keep the pans}^ after bloom ? 
No joy it yields to cheer tlie eye. 
When love has met its deadly doom 
The world is waste, the heart is dead, 
Its only resting place the tomb. 

In rocking motion, all unrest, 
Like seawaves beating on the shore, 
O heart, my Jieart, in troubled breast, 
What means tliis throbbing pulse of 



pain ? 



Is there for thee nor peace, nor r 



.-i ■? 



As day calls unto day, my heart, 
Thus sorrow unto sorrow calls ! 
Oh, heed the call 1 e'en as thou art, 
Thou'rt ne'er so poor, but alms mayst 

spend. 
And solace to thy like impart! 



80 IVELY, 

And as thy tender pulses beat 

In pity for another's woe, 

As wash tliy hands his weary feet ; 

As heals tliy care his wounds and sores, 

As loving eye -5 thine own then meet, 

O heart, my heart, forgot thy pain, 
Full sure thou'lt know there is a reaLn, 
Where love sways its eternal reign ; 
Where faithful souls in ra})ture meet 
And never, never part again." 



IVELT, 81 



BOOK VIII. 

His boyhood's friend to serve and save 
Was now Gar's all absorbing thought, 
And soon his zeal was recompensed : 
Close by the Basrah gate was found 
The faithless Keighan, waiting ship, 
To take her to some Western port. 
Gar hastily returned ; the knight 
Exultingly before her door 
He led, there left, with wishes kind, 
His noble friend. 

' I fear me much, 
A hopeless task I've undertaken,' 
'I'he knight, now ushered in her room, 
Within him mused. A gleaming ray 
Of em'rald sunshine through the door — 
And suddenly there passed the light 
And him between a darkening shade. 
6 



8^ IVELY, 

A rustling heard, the knight turned 

round. 
' Ah ! cousin Ively ! strangely met ! ' 

He trembled hearing that clear voice 
Whose music, years ago, had charmed 
Tlie youth in reveries of love. 

Ively. — ' And is it thee, Adele, I 
see? ' 
Extending to her both his hands, 
' Adele,' he cried, ' my cousin, dear ! 
What strange fantastic freak of fate 
Now brings together thee and me 
Who swore to never meet again ! ' 

Adele. — 'Dost think 'tis fate that 
brings thee here ? 
'Tis Providence, I say, that guides 
With loving, ord'ring hand, our steps. 
Nay, Ively, truly may I say. 
Since I cast off my baby -shoes, 



IVELt. gS 

No greater 3*03- has fallen to me, 
Than fills my breast this blessed hour. 
Thy face to see, thy voice to hear, 
It is a kingdom's worth to me/ 

Iveli/. — ' Dear cousin, thanks, a thou- 
sand thanks, 
For the goodwill thou bearest me ! 
Till now, Adele, I have revered. 
Obeyed, thy angiy wish, thy face 
No more to see.' 

Fast flowed her tears. 
And broken was her voice by sobs, 
As she, with burst of passion wild. 
Poured out her words : * Oh, since 

Adele, 
The girl, by childish frenzy wrought, 
Bade thee a last adieu, Adele, 
The woman, has in bitter tears 
Of grief her wantonness atoned. 
Canst thou forgive? I know thou wilt. 
cousin Ively — ' 



^4 IVELT. 

Ively. — ' Stop, oh, stop ! 

Not by my choice, Ad^le, I'm here. 
In search of Ahmed's wife I came. 
And little thought I, Keighaii meeting, 
Would meet my cousin, thee, Adele. 
Incredulous? And pray thee, why ? 
For had my wish inclined that way, 
Not here in Bagdad had I hoped 
To find the belle of Lancaster. 
But met, or Keighan, or Ad^le, 
Or noble Fakih Ahmed's wife. 
My hearty greetings generous take 
And hear my message.' 

Adele : — . ' To the name 

That brought me naught but grievous 

ill 
I owe, then this encounter ? Yea ! 
Thou kiiow'st perchance, that twice my 

star 
In nuptial skies has been obscured? 
Lord Keighan's dead, and of the dead 



IVELY. S5 

We should not speak, excepting well. 
And Fakili Aluned — he is dead. 
Yes dead — :ii least to me his wife ; 
Him, cousin, too, 'tis meet I'd spare.' 

lueli/. — ' Whatever faults may be thy 
lord's, 
His greatest is to love too well. 
My cousin, hearken unto me. 
Above the shallow codes of man, 
Abidinir sacred laws there are 
That, broken, soon or late will wreak 
A fearful veiiGfeance on the deed.' 

o 

Adele. — 'Enough! Enough! I'll hear 
no more I 
Hast couie to teach me? Out with 

tliee, 
I .say, and thy philosopliy ! 
Have I these four long years not died 
A hundred deaths of agony? 
And sliall I liear tliee calmly say, 



86 IVELY, 

I needs must live a hundred times 
The self-same death-in-life again ? 
Shall I then make my youthful life 
A never-ending round of pain 
Without an end of wit or reason ? ' 

Ively. — ' My cousin — ' 

Adele. — ' Cousin me no more ! 
Hast e'er of Christian woman heard 
Who, being not a slave, or fool. 
Content could be to live, a wife. 
With Muselman ? Then, tell me, pray, 
That I may learn to do as she. — 
It cannot be ! — He loveth me ? 
Ah, so he loveth anything 
That gives him pleasure, courts his 
pride.' 

Ively. — ' Thou art unjust ; and were 
he here, 
Far better than my sluggish speech, 



IV ELY. 87 

Might his devotion plead for him. 
Adele, I too, a father am. 
I am indeed no stranger to 
The love of home and wife and child, 
Nor to the pain of separation, 
The longing of the widowed heart 
That yearns for love, life's better part. 
As such, fain would I draw thee on 
To counsel, cousin, with thy heart : 
The tiny rosy hands canst thou 
Forget, that stretched them out to 

greet. 
The cherry lips that pouched to kiss 
The mother dear ? Do in thy dreams 
Not even now the childish eyes 
To thine send out an infant soul 
To aid the tongue that prattles love ? 
Thy better self deny thou not ! 
For tliou, a mother and a wife — 
I know thy noble self too well — 
Canst not estrange thy mind so far 
From nature, with her laws to strive— 



88 IV ELY. 

The laws of God. Ad^le, AdSle, 

By all the love I bore to thee, 

That first undying love, in which 

My heart beats toward thee even now, 

I beg of thee, return, return 

To Darishman ! Thy children's light 

From craven foe take back. Secure 

Their birthright, save their home ! Thou 

canst. 
If so thou wilt. Do't speedily ! 
For surely as thy husband's name 
Is honored by the Khalif s grace, 
Of men and arms, as thou may'st need, 
The Bulbassis to fight and crush. 
He'll gladly make thee liberal grant. 
Victorious once more, shalt thou 
To spouse and children make the gift 
Of Darishman's reconquered power.' 
Adele, — ' O God ! is Darishman iha 

foe's? 
And where was Ahmed? where his 

men ? ' 



IVELT. 89 

Iveli/. — ' His men were there ; but, 
Ahmed gone 
In search of thee, his wedded wife. 
More dear to him than life or power ! ' 

Adele.—' O, agony ! My children, oh ! 
Poor innocents ! And I the cause 
Of all their woes! Thank God, they're 

young 
And know not of their mother's wrong ! 
Thank God, I yet feel strength in me 
And hope, to set their birth aright ! 
Yea, I will do it. Come weal, come 

"woe, 
My life I give, a mother's pledge : 
My children shall not be the slaves 
Of servile slaves. I'll fight their fight. 
And till we set this matter right. 
Thou wilt, O cousin, stand by me 
And lend me thy supporting arm ? ' 

Lord Ively smiled, the lady blushed. 
' My time is not my own,' he said. 



00 TVELT. 

'Yea, if it were, thy wish, command 
Should be to me, nay, it would be, 
God knows and thou, mine own desire.' 

Reluctantly, as if afraid, 
The sacred mem'ries to profane, 
Commenced he then his tale to tell ; 
And as he of the hermit spoke. 
The miracle by which he read 
Lord Ively's thoughts, his shining face, 
The vow of pilgrimage, its aim, 
To meet and see the living God — 
His soul was thrilled with holy joy. 
And now he turned on her a look 
Of mute appeal, her eyes grew larger. 
Took hue so true from heaven, he knew 
Her heart, and not her ear alone. 
Were filled, and had received his words. 

' Ah, Ively,' said she with a sigh, 
' Thou 'rt made of finer clay than I. 
While, blinded by the mists of earth, 



IVELT. 91 

To eyes of flesh it is denied; 

To spirit-eyes the heaven opes, 

Shows them its glory undefiled. 

Though dimly, yet has dawned at times 

Celestial truth upon my eyes 

And touched them with its holy rays 

Of sweet and sure realit3^ 

But vainly, all alone, I strove 

To fasten on the vision high 

The trusting sense of childlike faith. 

A thousand wishes, old and new. 

Bore down my soul that soared to 

heaven. 
For whether I do praise or pray. 
The praise I give, the prayer I make, 
Is for a heaven of worldliness : 
My prayer for treasures not of heaven 
Avails me not, — I fail and fall. 
My struggling spirit sinks in doubt. 
As cast on barren desert isle, 
Sore tired of herbs, for better food 
The famished, shipwrecked sailor craves, 



02 IVl'.LY. 

Thus craves my soul the spirit food 
'J'liat can alone sustain its life.' 

Ively. — ' Such food, thank God, closo 
to thy hand 
Is placed, Adele. Go to thy God 
And let His bounty give it thee. 
Thy neiglibor seek in love sincere 
The spirit food to give and share. 
Divine communion waits on thee: 
Redeeming, thou shalt be redeemed. 

Adele. — 'The call I hear and will 
obey. 
As cousin thou a vow hast made 
The face of God, the Lord, to seek. 
So do I now, before the throne 
Of Him who omnipresent is. 
My whole existence bring and vow: 
The struggling will I give m}^ aid. 
The fallen, will I help to rise. 
And blend with the discordant notes 



IVELY. 93 

Of sin and sorrow, tones of love, 
That they may chime harmoniously 
In His creation's melody.' 

Lord Ively locked her hand in his, 
Wliile passionless, as might a cliild. 
Deep in his honest ej^es she looked. 
And now Adele the silence broke : 
Her speech had in it sound of bells. 
The sweet soft bells of festive eve, 
The ring of carols jubilant 
And holy psalms sung in God's praise : 
' Ah me, I knew not how to live, 
Alas, I knew not how to pray. 
Now I have learned to live and pray, 
From God and man no more estrai 
My soul no longer shall repine ; 
I know my heaven is near at hand. 



94 IVELY. 



BOOK IX. 

Reclining under arched gate, 

His friend expecting, waited Gar. 

At last the knight stepped through the 

door. 
There was a moment of suspense, 
A moment oidy, for the knight : 
' My dearest Gar, beyond all hope 
My mission has been prosperous ! 
Before the moon has changed her face, 
Events in stricken Darishman, 
She vows, shall their complexion 

change. 

In lonely chamber Lola sitting. 
Her hopes in silent prayer nursed ; 
But hearing steps in outer hall. 
Uprose she from her matted seat. 



IVELY. 95 

In fewest words was told the news. 
A simple child of Kurdish hills, 
Slie was too glad to think of forms: 
While to her dance the snowy hands 
Beat clapping time, her fairy feet. 
As light as air, spun round the room ; 
Her heart leaped to her tuneful tongue 
And taught it melody and song. 

Lord Ively, serious now in turn : 
' True love and duty are as twins 
That have one common sentiment 
Of weal and woe in life and death. 
Though two in body, one in soul. 
They live, increased, a blended life 
Of sympathetic happiness. 
And such, I trust, her sphere re found. 
Will henceforth be my cousin's share.' 
' Your cousin's ? ' asked at once the 
two. 

Iveli/. — ' E 'en so. Like you, I was 
surprised 



96 IVELY 

To find her ladyship to be 
Mv dearest cousin — ' 

Lola. — ' Knew'st thou not 

Who Keighan was ? ' 

Ivelt/, — ' Not till we met. 

It is her former husband's name ; 
She married while I was away. 
Her husband, in their bridal year, 
Before Jerusalem was killed. 
And though she never loved him much, 
Brave captain of her husband's men. 
She stayed his spirit to avenge.' 

Lola. — ' A meeting truly marvelous . 

Ively. — 'Yea, Lola, marvelous indeed: 
But not without some good to all. 
I've known my cousin from a child ; 
Her freaks and follies, to my huit, 
I' ve known, and suffered much, like 

you. 
But 'waiting mercy, just I'd be : 
Her heart such genuine excellence 



IVELT. 97 

Of virtue harbors, wise the man 
Who knows to prize and win it all ! 
And now disaster's scorching days . 
Have loosed the fett'ring bonds of ice, 
And stirred affection's frozen streams 
To irrigate the hopeful fields. 
To Ahmed and his new-won wife 
The summertime of love is come, 
And bears on balmy airs to them 
The fragrant hopes of harvest-joys.' 

Gar. — ' Our " Amen " to thy proph- 
ecy!' 

Lola. — ' And heartily we thank the 
day 
That brought us such a friend as thee.' 

In simple words, so simply said, 
There was a candor and a grace 
That went to Ively's inmost heart. 
The moistened eyes that gazed in his. 
The quivering hands that clasped his 
own, 

7 



98 iv£:ly. 

Sure tokens were they to his inind, 
That these were ties time would not 
break. 

^ '^ ^ f^ ^ ^ 

The injured chieftain's cause to speed, 

The morrow brought its busy cares 

And left its legacy of work 

To many of its younger kin ; 

But Gar's expedience and craft 

Soon smoothed each anxious furrowed 

brow, 
And raised slow hopes to certainties. 
A thousand men and horse, equipped 
For mountain warfare, willing lent. 
Exhausted not the Khalif s zeal. 
Who, eager gratitude to prove, 
Five thousand ducats ghidly adds. 
And promise of his future help. 

Anxiety now set at rest. 
Was Ahmed heard from : Soon he 

might, 
' Twfts said, to Divrishinau return, 



IVJ^LY. 99 

Of Lola's capture, her release, 

Her mother's death, and Gar's lament, 

Urged by A dele, had Ively told her. 

' O cousin,' cried she, ' God is just,' 

For our offences, soon or late, 

A full atonement we must make. 

When fled our passions are, is this 

Of misery the thorny crown, 

To know beyond all hope of help 

The grief we caused to tliose we love.* 

She hid her face and, like a child, 

That, longing for its mother, sobs, 

And nothing will avail to still, 

She sobbed and wept the salty tears 

Of bitterly repentant woe. 

' Oh, would that I had died ere now 

Or, dying, could the past annul ! 

It were but poor amends to make ! 

But done the deed, the doom is cast, 

Of no avail the better ken.' 

Ively.-—'- My dear Adele, be comforted 



1)0 IVJELY. 

A new, a truer, nobler life, 
A precious gift of grace, awaits 
Thiy willing spirit. Live, Adele, 
That higher life to wliich thy soul 
Has pledged itself. The lausoiu {aid,- 
The tearful past, with griefs thine own, 
And griefs of others made thine own, — 
From thraldom of enslaving yoke 
Mas bought thee priceless liberty. 
The price no more bewail that bought 
The precious pearl ; but thee prepare 
To wear the gem full worthily.' 

Adele. — * The past, a dread abyss, ap- 
pals 
My soul.' 

Ively. — ' It is the dizziness 
Of height attained. But, cousin, hark. 
Friend Gar has come to wait on thee.' 

Through folding silk a head appeared. 
Twas Gar's. And peeping over it. 



IVELY. 101 

Beamed bright with smiles of gentleness 
His sister's blushing countenance. 
Her seeing, Keighan's color came 
And went. Loud beat her heart and 

fast. 
By one strong impulse borne, she rushed 
To Lola's breast. Cheek pressed to 

cheek, 
Around her neck she threw her arms 
And made abundant tears her speech. 
The men withdrew. Much moved, was 

Gar 
The first to speak : ' My noble friend. 
Though few the months since we did 

meet. 
Thou hast bestowed on us a gift 
Of priceless value.' 

Ivelj/. — ' I ? pray, what ? ' 

Gar, — The noblest wealth man may 
on man 
Bestow, or man from man receive, — 



102 IVELY. 

Unstinted gift of one's own self. 
Alas, that we so soon must part ! ' 

Ivel^. — ' My gentle Gar, but short the 
time, 
When in the flesh again I'll be 
With you, as in the spirit e'er 
I'll be ; and then, all signs predict. 
Shall Darishman, now the abode 
Of greedy vultures, be delight 
Of merry hearts, and ring with shouts 
Of peaceful games and festive sports. 
The business thou toldst me of, 
Ere we set out from fair Damascus, 
Will not, I trust, keep thee away ? 

Crar. — ' Ah, that is finished. ' 

Ively,— ' Finished, Gar ? ' 

Grar. — * I promised thee to let thee 
know it. 
Sit down and listen. Thou must know. 



IVELY. 103 

But keep it from thy Christian friends, 
Convulsed the land by feuds and wars, 
All bounds of loyalty are loosed. 
There is, spread far and wide, a sect — 
Assassins, are they fitly called, — 
Who, leagued with certain of our foes, 
The secret trade of blood pursue. 
And, to their chief obedient, spare 
Nor friend, nor kin, nor wife nor child. 
E'en Saladin, whose precious life 
Should safe have been amidst his people. 
E'en he, has twice their target been, — 
Is even yet from friends as much 
In danger, as from Christian sword. 
Him to protect, as best I could, 
Was office I myself had sought, — 
A trust but few dare undertake, 
For it requireth courage, skill, 
The subtle art of self-control, 
And crafty practice of deceits 
Which friends may praise, but foes must 
hate. 



104 IVELT. 

And now, prepare tliy trustful soul 

For a surprise. It was not chance 

Brought me to thee the morn we met. 

On shorter road than thou hast taken, 

A messenger was sent to me 

With this command : to wait for thee, 

Accompany thee to safety, 

Or else apprize thee of thy risks, 

For thus desired thy hermit-friend, 

A man the Sultan loveth much — 

Ah! calm thy fears! The mountain 

saint. 
Be thou assured, is no one's foe 
And least of all, his rescuer's. 
But Saladin so honors him. 
His reverence amounts to awe, 
And granted is whate'er he asks. 
I met thee on the mountain-side ; 
But found my warning no avail. 
I leave it then for thee to judge 
What perils thou hadst run had I 
Allowed thee to depart alone. 



IVELY. 105 

A Moslem Christian,' Ively thought, 
And strangely felt he drawn to him 
Whose unsuspected kindliness 
Accused him of his own mistrust, 
* Then was my company,' he said, 
' X dang'rous one for thee — * 

Gar.- — ' Perhaps 

It was. I liked thy honest face : 
Through shoals and rocks of unknown 

seas 
The pilgrim's ship to pilot safe — 
It were as worthy task, I thought, 
As faring to the prophet's tomb — 
And better had I never done.' 

Lord Ively now quite pensive grown, 
* Unselfish friend,' at last he said, 
' To thee I owe my life — aye, more 
Than life itself : new trust in man. 
How much I was in debt to thee 
I had no hint of it till now,' 



106 IVELY. 

€rar. — The more thy friendship has 
proved true. 
But here come two will say with me, 
Good done to one, is done to all.' 

■JJc ^ ^ ^ "sjc 

As nearer drew the parting hour 
The kniglit felt stealing o'er his heart 
The bitterness of parting pain ; 
And seeing Gar's and Keighan's grief, 
Sweet Lola touched her ready lute : 

" All around me solemn silence. 
Softly couched on verdant mafc, 

Where the flowerets shone their bright- 
est. 
On the sloping hill I sat. 

And Iwondered: 'Earth's fair childion. 
Have you speech your thought to tell ?' 

Rising heard I myriad voices 

Loud in sweet accordance swell : 

' God is great. 'Tis He who made us 
Shine in beauty manifold, 



IVEL Y. 107 

Fragrance, too, He breathed upon us. 
Lilies, purple, white and gold.' 

' God is good' the Daisies answered, 
' Scatters us with loving hand, 

Sets us o'er the world a-blooming. 
North and South in ev'ry land.' 

' God is good', sang all the meadow, 
Queenly rose and humble blade. 

' And he gives us all perfection, 
Every kind its form and shape.' 

Winter came, the snowflakes glim- 
mered. 

Soft and white they slowly fell, 
And I asked them e ' Distant wand'rers^ 

Have you voice your tale to tell ? ' 

And on winds, in tree-tops sounding, 
Came their answer, clear and loud : 

' God is good ! Far have we travelled, 
Floating high on silvery cloud. 



108 IVELY. 

Many thousand sisters saw we, 
Drifting wide from us apart. 

They, like us, are all resplendent, 
Fashioned perfect by His art.' 

Why dost dread the coming morrow, 
Man of wav'ring doubting mood ? 

Near or distant, now and ever. 
God is great and God is good." 



IV ELY. 109 



BOOK X. 

Ively. — ''Tis now a month since on the 
road, 
A prey to India's scorching sun. 
Thou foundest me but half alive. 
Small hope thou hadst, my Naga, then, 
That I should live to thank thy pains, 
Poor thanks they be, though, that I 

give- 
Mere idle words of gratitude — 
For days of care and sleepless nights.' 

Naga. — 'Nay, friend,' replied the old 
man kind, 
And well became the garb he wore. 
Of healer, his benign reply : 
'Success, I deem, is ample recompense. 
And then, it ^ords were idle, pray^ 



110 IVELY. 

What call'st thou real ? Gift of gold ? 
Un'companied by grateful thought, 
It said not near so much as words 
Might say to me. For words are 

thoughts. 
Though to decay all else may fall. 
True thought still lives a charmed life ; 
Nay, all we have and truly hold. 
Beyond the risks of favor, health. 
Of flood and fire, is wealth of thought. 
Nor store me it, to rest unused ; 
For it is like a grain of corn : 
When fallen into fertile soil, 
It grows and brings return, 
A hundred and a thousand-fold. 
Through circling aeons liveth on, 
Increaseth ever, truth — the Avord 
Thou spokest of — wisdom divine, 
The life of God, to man come down.' 

Thus spoke the sage, and gladly 
would 



IVELY. Ill 

The pilgrim kniglit the theme pursue, 
Make answer and pour out his heart 
That overflowed with thankfuhiess ; 
But strangers came, and mutual friends. 
Who now their joined attention claimed, 

For here, when done their daily work. 
Assemble weary men to rest. 
And this the hour, sweet ev'ning hour, 
When weary lab'rers leave their toil. 
Enjoy the fanning of the winds 
And all delights of eventide. 
To see and hear, to speak and learn. 
From hut, and house, and mansion come 
The toilers to th' accustomed place. 
The well is there, and palms above, 
And seats of stone, that are by use. 
As by the chisel's edge, worn smooth. 
Upon tliem those have sat who lived 
When valiant Krishna walked the earth, 
A hundred hundred years ago. 
Now, as of yore, to these same seats 



112 IVELY. 

Come bearded men and smooth-chinned 

youths , 
Round this same well they sit and list 
To legends of the hoary past. 

And now wise Naga's voice is heard : 
* To Brahman Haran, Choudor's son, 
From all Shapour a hearty welcome ! 
As many peoples, lands, and kings, 
He, from Chan(5uje returned, has seen. 
If so it please him, glad we hear 
The news he brings from royal courts. 
Though ours a quiet life at plough, 
Not knowing use or feats of arms, 
Nor conquest bought with human blood ; 
Yet ev'ry age affords us proof, 
The peasant's weal and woe is cast 
By courtiers in their princely halls.' 

To Haran ev'ry eye was turned, 
Who, self-possessed, with modest air. 
Began : ' O Naga, in the depth 
And inwardness of things thou look st. 



IVELT. 113 

Ah, while we speak who meet this eve, 
Our very lives in balance hang. 
And any morn the flood of war. 
Now on the frontier surging, may, 
— Who knows the future ? — swell and 

reach. 
Our fields that hitherto no wounds 
Have pierced save those the ploughshare 

made.' 

Nag a. — ' Why Haran, what dost 
mean ? Speak out ! ' 

Haran — ' Chund Ray, the ruler of 
Chanouje, 
In baneful passion has made war 
On Delhi's prince and called on Ghor, 
The Afghan king, to aid his cause. 
To save myself, and you to warn, 
I hurried home. For hark you, men, 
A swarming host, the foreign foes. 
Are pouring over all our land : 
Unmerciful, they sack and burn 



Il4 IVELY. 

Each town and village on their wa}^,. 
I fear nie, soon the savage horde 
Will be on us.' 

A moaning roar 
Sucli as is heard in woods of oak, 
At tempest's rise, now filled the air. 
And rose in one long- wailinof tone, — 
A voice of sorrow and despair. 
His fears, his anguish and his dread 
Each neighbor to his neighbor spoke 
And sougiit of him who lacked it, hope. 
But white-haired Naga lifted up 
His ringing voice, and at its sound, 
So oft in wisdom's council heard, 
The wordy tumult ceased to rage ; 
' Friends, grave the news now come to us. 
It is, alas ! but true enough. 
Before the Afghan host we are 
Defenceless— ' 

' Vishnu, pity us ! 
Thou gracious one ! Remember us, 
O Krishna, great and mighty God, 



trm.r. n^ 

In our affliction ! ' rose tlieir cry. 
But Naga, silence bidding, spake : 
' In times of danger and of need 
To borrow counsel is not shame. 
Much clearer to the calmer mind 
Appear the shades and lights of life, 
And wisdom wears a crown of ice. 
Safe may we trust to our good friend, 
Whose head is cool, whose heart is warm. 
Lord Ively, thou art trained in wars. 
Advise us thou in our distress.' 



116 IVELY. 



BOOK XL 

Lord Ively felt sore ill at heart, 
But, slowly rising to his feet, 
111 low and measured words he said: 
* My worthy and beloved friends. 
It grieves me past my power to tell — 
E'en were I in my native tongue 
To speak to you, I could not say 
How grieved 1 am at your distress. 
As you have asked for my advice, 
I give it you, as friend to friend : 
If it prove true, what heaven forbid ! 
That Afghan hordes invade your land, 
Then gather up your household goods 
And with your wives and children flee 
In time before the coming wrath. 
I know the Afghan ! Proud and bold, 
He shows no mercy to his foes ; 



IVELY. 117 

And foes are all who do not share 

His blinded faith in Mahomet. 

But danger is not yet so near 

That you may not this balmy night 

In safety sleep. With minds refreshed 

Return at morn to further counsel.' 

His speech of kindly sympathy 
Fell reassuring on their ears, 
And found an echo in their hearts. 
' The stranger from the West is right/ 
Said Naga, grave and dignified. 
* His words are wise. Sleep lull our cares 
To j-est and give our souls new strength 
To face and brave our dreaded fate. 
At sunrise let us meet again.' 

All gave assent, and soon the fountain 
Was wrapped in tranquil solitude. 

His mind too busy yet for sleep, 
Lord Ively slowly climbed the hill ; 
And came again before his eyes 



118 IVELY. 

The scene late witnessed at the well. 
What would they do, poor helpless ones, 
Should the invader on them fall ? 
And rambling thus, lost in his thoughts, 
Lord Ively, to a clearing come. 
On to a rocky platform stepped 
That overhung a precipice. 
Below, in silv'ry starlight, lay 
The village with its whitened walls. 
Its gardens fair with shrubs and trees ; 
Beyond, the willow-shaded brook ; 
With hamlets studded, large and small, 
III undulating lines — the plain. 

Lo, there ! Lord Ively rubbed his eyes : 
Oil the horizon's edge — far out — 
Uncertain, dim, a light is seen. 
Is it the rising moon ? It spreads. 
Or is it — ? How his heart beats fast! 
Red clouds of thickly rolling smoke, 
And sprays of golden glowing sparks, 
And now a lurid glare mount high 



IVELT. 119 

Up to the sky ! He trembling looks : 
Oil, frightful sign at such a time ! 
Not for himself his fears are stirred, 
But for his poor, defenceless hosts ! 
His way retracing, down the hill 
He flies to rouse them from their sleep. 
But stopping, what is this he hears? 
Through silent midnight air there comes 
Tiie sound of wheels ! excited cries ! 
Confused noise mixed with the plaint: 
Of weeping children, woman's wail ! 
No longer room for doubt, they are 
The fugitives. His flying feet 
The village reach. There, all astir 
With wild excitement, shouting men 
The growling beasts prepare in haste 
For speedy flight. The foe behind ! 
To fall in his dread hands is death ! 
And worse a thousand times than death ! 
For reasoning is this the time ? 
And ' Whither may we safely go ? ' 
Is answered by the cry ' Away ! 



120 IVELY. 

Away from them ! Away I away ! * 
The knight makes straight for Naga's 

house, 
Where calm, as in his brightest hour, 
The worthy sage, his hand extending: 
* Misfortunes wait for no one's hour 
Nor ease ,' he says. ' Go with us, friend, 
We need thy help. My roof no more 
Protection can afford my guest — 
Not now at least. But yet, not long 
I hope, shall we in exile mourn. ' 

Ively. — 'Thou speakest, Naga, what my 
lieart 
Rejoices much to hear. Good days 
I shared with thee ; now sorrows come. 
Shall I be wanting by thy side ? ' 

In answer Naga pressed his hand 
And to his men : ' Take care,' he said. 
To lead your teams across the fields. 
Though rough it be, a better way 



tVELT. 121 

And swifter run, you find, beside. 
Than in the much impeded road.' 

As Ively heard the words, lie thought. 
How in the self-same terms he'd heard 
Tlie sage contrast the sacred life 
Of contemplation with the life 
Spent in the turmoil of the world. 
While yet they speak, all are at work. 
And by the torches' flick'ring light 
The oxen to the carts are harnessed. 
Some needed household-goods and food, 
And last of all — a precious burden ! — 
Their wives and babes, they load in 

haste 
Upon the shaky vehicles. 
With tearful eyes still turned on home. 
Out in the hollow night they start. 
Not many miles have they been gone. 
When road and trees a glare illumines : 
From hundred hearts by anguish rent, 
One cry of terror and of pain — 



122 IVELY, 

They see their homes all wrapt in flames. 
No need to scourge the frightened beasts, 
They, frenzied, fly along the road ; 
And is it blocked, o'er fields they go, 
Arrested oft by broken wheel. 
Upsetting oft in thorn and ditch. 
Them, Naga, wisely circumspect, 
His men to succor had enjoined. 
And him, a master much beloved, 
Obeyed the faithful servants gladly, 
Though knowing well that each delay 
Might bring on them the Afghan sword. 

How longed for is the dawn of day 
To them that watch through anxious 

night ! 
Beside the road good Naga viewed 
The line in long procession winding 
Along the river-bordered hill. 
And on his kindly face there shone 
The sun of grace and peace sublime : 
His friends (the village all are they !) 
He numbers, finds them one and all I 



IVELY. 123 

A halt is made. The stragglers come, 
And, round their leader gathering, 
They hear him say : * There is a ford 
Not far from here, leads to a road 
That, long disused, and overgrown 
With, reedy grass, escapes the eye 
Of passers-by. Away it lies. 
Removed from travel and the way 
Our foes pursue. Once there, we may 
More quietly stop to forge our plans 
At reason's furnace.' 

All agreed. 
The ford was passed, the road was found 
And every breast more freely breathed ; 
While many were the fervent vows 
Their thankful hearts devoutly made 
To the protecting deity. 
Till sundown travelled they, until, 
From rising ground— a joyful sight ! — 
They saw, deep cradled in the vale, 
What had their leader fitly called, 
A city of the mystic past. 



124 IVELT. 

None but the eyes of heaven beheld 
The entry of the homeless throng 
That now the ancient streets once more 
Made ring with sound of human voices. 
Or were their spirits hov'ring round 
The fallen columns, white and weird ; 
The shades of those who, long ago, 
A fate more sad than theirs endured? 



IVELW 125 



BOOK XII. 

In the deserted city led, 
'Midst false alarms and many fears, 
The fugitives for sev'ral months 
A restless life. All, save the knight, 
And saintly souls, like him a few. 
His pilgrimage was stayed. But he 
Went toiling on in search of heaven. 
Obedient to the hermit's words, 
He lived among and for the men 
Whom in Judea's verdant plains 
The teacher had ' our neighbors ' styled. 
His counsel and his hand he gave 
The stricken people in their griefs, 
And he became as one of them. 
Abundant recompense, their love. 
Rewarded him, and that small voice 
That makes of mis'ry, happiness : 



126 IVELV. 

The voice of love with love content. 
The time he reckoned not ill spent 
That to the hearts of worthy men 
And pious women brought him near. 
The armies past, and safe the roads, 
He would, he thought, resume his way. 
A distant glimpse of snow-capped peaks 
He'd passing caught : ' There, on tliese 

heights, 
In azure skies raised towering up, 
Must be the longed-for wonderland. 
Where earth to glorious heaven ascends 
And man with God stands face to face.' 
But little knew he. Providence, 
Her workings to unfold to him, 
Had chosen this deserted town 
His pilgrimage in it to crown. 

'Twas there, as days wore slowly on. 
Beneath some shady tamarind. 
The friends would often meet to speak 
Of that which — hopes of earth removed — 



IVELY. 127 

Was nearest now to ev'iy soul, 
Of faith, eternal life, and God. 

By Naga taught meek tolerance, 
The Buddhist Toulla was with them, 
And Haran, Brahman of the sect 
Sankd had founded, whom they style 
The father of all Hinduism. 
Wise Naga, the kind patriarch, 
And Ively, full of zeal, were there. 
To listen, rather than to speak. 
Some fugitives would join the group. 
While others, of more serious turn. 
To profit, sought their company. 
Of varied creeds and castes, they were 
All equals now. For trifling cares, 
Restraints of caste and prejudice. 
Like chaff, were scattered by the winds 
Of common fate. All equals now. 
Since life was all a man possessed, 
And, even that, he held at risk 
Of dangers hanging o'er them all. 



128 tvm.Y. 

All felt the force of mystic tie 
That binds accordant souls. ButNaga, 
As tliey, one day, had met again, 
Their fleeting thought in staying words 
Recasting, said : " How true it is, 
Dear friends, not all is ill in life 
That causes us distress and pain. 
We live, and hoping still to live 
Full many years, not e'en a thought 
Conies home to us how sliort our lives, 
And to what purpose they should tend. 
Let me confess, how glad I am 
To hear you speak the things of heaven. 
My strength is spent, and meet it is 
That I prepare me for the way 
We all must go. Ah, say you nay ? 
Too well I know my days on earth 
Are few ; all now that holds me here, 
It is the fondly cherished hope 
To see you to Shapour returned.' 

'Thy hope,' Lord Ively, joining tliem, 



IVJELT, 129 

Here cheerixy threw in, ' is like 
To be fulfilled. A traveller, 
Met on the highway by our scouts, 
Reports the Afghan moving North ? ' 

Nag a, — ' Good news, indeed ! If it be 
true, 
Our people may their homes rebuild 
Against the winter. As for me, 
My home will be prepared above, 
Where neither winters come, nor wars. 
To cloud the skies of home and peace.' 

The sage's sombre prophecy 
Cut to the heart his loyal friends. 
And mourning cast o'er all her shade ; 
But Ively's eyes were full of tears. 
Their sorrow seeing, sweet, serene. 
As on a dizzy mountain path 
Comes from some guiding friend good 
cheer. 

From Naga came the words of faith : 
9 



130 IVELV. 

* What mourn you, friends, my life or 

death ? 
What is this world, and what this life ? 
As of a tree, it is a bough, 
On which a bird a night does rest 
And in the morning flies away. 
When night is fading, dawns the morn ; 
Oh, grudge me not, the day of peace 
That glorious breaks upon my eyes.' 

His words by joyous shouts were 

drowned, 
And crowding on them, came the men, 
The women with their babes in arms, 
And children shouting loud for joy, 
' Return we home. The foe is gone ! 
All danger past ! Let us depart ! ' 
Confirming what the scouts had learned. 
Returning fugitives came in. 
Told of the glad deliverance ; 
And Naga, having heard their tale ; 
* The day is on the wane,' he said, 



IVELY. 131 

' But get you ready by the morn 
To leave this refuge for our homes/ 

Was there a face, or young or old, 
Did not with pleasure beam that night ? 
As in the crown of hemlock tree 
On which a flock of birds alight, 
Resound — a medley of sweet song — 
Their chirps, and twitt'rings, high and 

low 
And short and long, and shrill and soft. 
Thus was the town now full of cries. 
Of bubbling laughter, blithesome talk. 
Exhorting shouts, commanding calls. 
All mingling into one sweet song. 
And of that song the theme was 

' Home.' 
While silent 'neath the tamarind 
The little band sat, thoughtfully. 
They fain would have dispelled the awe 
And dread that Naga's solemn words 
Had left on them ; but, well they knew, 



132 IVELT. 

Not reckless words could be the speech 
That came from sainted lips as his. 
But cheerful, Naga : ' Friends,' he said, 
' Though oft, and long in harmon}- 
Of aims and unity of hearts 
We have communed on heavenly 

themes, 
So soon we are to separate, 
Were it not well, ere we depart. 
To once more share our pious thought. 
The bread of life, in love together ? 
There lies in hearts conformed to God, 
As does in nature's store, a wealth. 
No human life exhausts or sifts.' 

In confirmation of the word 

There rose and spoke a few whose heart 

Was rooted firm in loyal faith 

And rich in pearls of precious thought 

The Brahman, too, in fervent words 

Poured forth his spirit's eloquence ; 

' Yea, verily, not man alone 



IVELY, 133 

To us of God's revealing speaks. 
God's word is broadcast over earth, 
His being, merged in ev'ry thing. 
Encircling span the worlds, his seas 
Replenish all the stream of life : 
In endless measure in his palm 
Holds God the fountains of all life. 
Himself revealing when he wills, 
He sheds upon his prophet's brows 
Tlie subtle etlier of his light. 
And, great or small, the share we gain, 
Is word revealed, — is truth of God. 
Survey it broadly, all in all, 
111 ev'ry age, in ev*ry land. 
The holy seer's prophetic word 
Impression bears of one great seal, 
The stamp of one eternal truth, 
In some distinct, in others blurred. 
The trace is there, the legend : ' Love.' 
And willing eyes decypher it.' 

*But how,' asked Ively, * comes it then. 



134 tVELt, 

The fruits which one religion bears 

Surpass in excellence and worth 

By far those of another creed ? 

And by its fruit — thou dost concede— 

The tree shall good or bad be judged.' 



IVELY, 136 



BOOK XIII. 

But Naga, nodding aye and nay 
As if to say ' Thy facts hold good, 
But not the argument implied,' 
Now glancing at his Buddhist friend, 
He said : ' Wilt thou for Haran speak?' 
Then Toulla rose and made reply : 
' Hast thou forgot what Naga said, 
" It is this grand diversity 
Of inner and of outward life 
Attests the Lord's infinitude " ? 
Wide is the world we see and touch. 
Before the searching eye recede, 
Unfathomable in extent, 
The borders of the visible. 
But greater is the spirit's span, 
For it contains the grosser mould 
In which it casts part of itself. 



136 iVELT. 

Much hast thou in thy travels seen 

Of God's creation, but wilt say, 

Thou know'st it all ? Nay, say'st thou 

not : 
By all my wancFrings far and wide, 
I have been taught my ignorance ? 
And countries hast thou doubtless seen, 
That differ much from this, our land. 
But sayest thou, this is God's land. 
The others are but shadows fair? 
You smile ? and well you may. In- 
deed, 
It were denying God the Lord. 
But were the fault a tittle less, 
If you His spirit-woild surveyed 
And haughty said : ' I hold it all. 
Yea, all beside is idle dream ? ' 
Man is but weak and slowly spells 
The word of God by letters out — 
But who has read the book entire? 
Let us, then, heed the masters well. 
The seers and prophets, they who read 



ivi':lt. 137 

And what they read to us reveal. 
As in the world of sense, so lie re, 
In all diversity of forms. 
Some common elements we find, 
Eternal, universal truths. 
And ev'ry page that is begun, 
Confirms the page perused before, 
Is of the story partly known. 
The sequence, told by other tongues. 
This, then, tho test must be of truth. 
That nearer to his God it brings 
The soul of man. And on that path 
Divine the prophet places him 
Who to his guidance yields himself. 
The truth he hears and makes liis own, 
If faithfully he travels on. 
Brings him in harmony with God. 
We know it all : ' The perfect life ' 
Ye Christians term such life. ' Twice 

born,' 
The Bmhman names its devotees. 
Our teacher Buddha Sankya Muni 



138 IVELY 

This state of bliss * Nirvana ' calls. 
The tongue may change the trav'ling 

word, 
And creeds are made, re-made by man. 
But him can neither help nor hurt 
Who, lost in God, has found His life.' 

As striking steel against the flint, 
The peasant bluish sparks sees fly, 
But dark remains his lint, unlit. 
Thus Ively, hearing all they said, 
Still knew not where his heart to rest. 
And doubting still, he felt on him 
The eyes of Naga. Deep and warm, 
There was the presence of a soul 
That, chastened, all its energies 
On love had bent. Pure as the dew 
That thirsty flowerets drink at morn. 
That presence now came over him. 
As shine across reflecting waves, 
The welcome lights of cherished home, 
To cheer belated wanderer's way, 



IVELY. 130 

So slione on Ively's inmost soul 

The splendor of the spirit-realm 

Reflected by the sage's face. 

Then memory recalled to mind 

The hermit's features. Here, as tliere, 

The same sweet peace and joy sublime, 

Triumphant over earthly hold, 

As in a martyr's upturned eye, 

A power unshakable, serene : 

The spirit, freed from dungeon drear, 

Beholding the eternal day. 

All doubt took wing, all fears were 

gone, 
As thrilled his heart the sage's word : 
'Our Christian friend has touched a 

chord 
Whose sound among us is not strange. 
We, too, we have of neighbors heard. 
Who even now are seen on tracks 
Which, swift of foot, our ancestors 
111 onward race have left behind. 
But shall we bound the God of grace 



140 IVELY. 

And say " thus far, and farther not ? " 
Benighted people though there be, 
Are they not children, too, of Hira 
Whose power creative maketh all 
That bear tlie noble name of man ? 
Are they not by His wisdom called, 
As were our fathers, long ago, 
Through faithful work and strong en 

deavor 
To rise from dust to spirit-realms ? 
Creation's day is but begun ; 
And in the ages past we read 
The law of Time, the will of God : 
All Hfe is growth, and growth is life, 
And life divine is life eternal. 
The empires come, the empires go. 
The outward life cannot avail, 
Of men the mightiest must fall, 
Their glory fade. But, vitally, 
The spirit's conquests still prevail ; 
For spirit is of God the Good, 
For spirit is of God — eternal. 



IVELY. 141 

All that the short-lived day may laud, 

That may the morrow proud disown ; 

But all of truth the race divined, 

And spirit-power in single heart, 

By myriad souls secured, possessed, 

Remains, endures for evermore. 

Loud singing through eternity, 

Is heard above the voice of Earth 

The anthem of the heavenly choir: 

" A common law is over us. 

One common bond unites us all, 

It is the will of God, the Lord, 

His love divine, unfathomable : 

All for one, and one for all, 

In the to-day we live for aye. 

Like verdant Hesperidian tree, 

That blossom bears and fruit at once — 

E'er into fuller life to grow, 

From age to age, to higher joys. 

To greater strength, to nobler ends, 

This is man's destiny sublime, 

The life eternal, God-ordained." 



142 IVELY. 

And, conscious of God's grace and care, 
Shall we, then, still the angr}^ sword 
In fell contention raise to strike, 
And stab with pointed thriftless word 
Tiie soul of them that seek for light ? 
Or shall we joy in good we find 
We hold in common ; bring to pass 
By active lives of love and truth 
Our vision of the fuller light? 

ye, that hear ! of better days 

1 see the dawn, when humble, man 
Shall truer be to God, and say : 

" Who knoweth Thee, the Infinite?" 
And who is there that may proclaim, 
" Behold, I have revealed Him all*' ? 
True meekness prompts to search for 

truth , 
Of better days I see the dawn, 
When, o'er the wide, fair face of earth 
The gifts of spirit and of life 
Become the property of all ; 
When, freed from narrowness of sight, 



IVELY. 143 

The godlike soul of man will seek — 
Each in the measure of his lig^ht — 
B}' ev'ry thought and word and deed 
To enter in communing love 
And live with God in spirit one.' 

While spake with kindling eye the sage, 
The knight his thoughtful look cast 

round : 
How beautiful the picture gleamed — 
In glowing tints of fading day 
The massive pillars, noble shafts ! 
An ancient temple's last display, 
E'en in its utter ruin grand, 
It spoke to him in tender tones 
Of men that once had been as he, 
A living part of human kind, 
Had wept and laughed, had smiled 

and sighed, 
Had feared and hoped, as he; had made 
Their vows and prayers, as he, to One 
Whose arm was mighty over them. 



144 IVELY. 

Though all His glory, knew they not, 
And called Him by another name, 
Did they not worship Him who is 
And was, and evermore shall be? 
Did they not know that God in part. 
And who can say, he knows Him all ? 
Did they not in aspiring awe 
His presence seek, to ask His aid. 
And who will say. He heard them not ? 

What was it stirred the knight to 

speech, 
As risen to his feet, he said : 
'Yea, Naga, this of faiths the true : 
Througli hoary ages grandly flows, 
The surofinof flood of truth divine. 
An ever broad'ning, deepening stream. 
Aiid thouofh its outward forms aro 

changed. 
As bordering banks its waters tinge, 
And rocks its rushing course obstruct. 
Its onward swce[) remains unchanged. 



IVELT. 145 

To ever nearer come to God, 

With Him to do His work divine — ' 

Tlie speaker started, blanched and 

stopped, 
Then motioned ; at a glance they 

knew 
Fulfilled was Naga's prophecy. 
As child, that gently falls asleep, 
A smile serene upon his face, 
His soul had sped to life and light. 



Tn rosy tints of rising sun 
The columns, pillars, walls and roofs 
Resplendent shone ; above the sobs 
And sighs of grief there slowly rose 
And solemnly, the chant that had 
Of old been sung around the pyre. 
From shore to shore, from earth to sky, 

Its strains reechoed, linking souls 
Of earth to souls in the beyond : 



146 tvm.Y. 

" On the ancient path now start, 
To the place thy soul depart 
Whither all the fathers went. 
Led there by the Lord of Death 
Meet thou with the Ancient Ones! 

Throwing off all fault and sin, 
Go, a lasting home to win, 
Whither went the Ancient Ones : 
Clothed in a shining form, 
In a nobler body rise ! 

Meet thou, of the host be one, 
Those whose meditations won 
Over Self the victory ; 
Who, by seeking the Unseen, 
Faithfully to heaven attain. 

Join the host of those who brave, 
Precious lives for others gave. 
Those that on the suffering poor, 
Tender heart and open hand. 
Cheerfully their goods bestowed. 



IV FLY. 147 

Swiftly flying through the air, 
Thee shciU gentle spirits bear, 
Sprinkle tliee with purest dew 
Upward flying, cooling winds 
Playing around thee, fan thy brow 
****** 
Lovingly then bear him on, 
Where the Ancient Ones have gone 
Nothing wasted, nothing won. 
To the world of righteousness 
Carry him, the soul unborn. 

Let his spirit now depart ; 
And his soul, his godlike part, 
Let thy brightness, gracious Lord, 
Quicken it, that it may shine 
In the world of holiness. 

There in bliss his wife he joins; 
There the children of his loins 
And beloved friends he meets. 
There no crookedness of form. 
There infirmities are none. 



148 imLY, 

Boundless spreads around, the vale I 
Gloomy regions, dim and pale, 
Lie before him, he must cross. 
Washed his feet, that sin has stained, 
Cleansed, he enters into heaven. 

Through the gloom and through the 
night 
Heavenward is his glorious flight. 
Endless worlds unfold to him, 
Wond'ring at the glories seen 
Mounts to bliss his radiant soul." 

As floated on the morning air 
The last low notes, and died away, 
The pilgrim still communed with God. 
Wise Naga's speech fresh in his mind, 
He prayed out of his deepest heart : 
' Great God, whose face no mortal eye 
Is worthy to behold, bent low 
Before the footstool of Thy throne. 
My soul craves Thy forgiving grace. 
Forgive, and of Thy tender love, 



IVELY, 149 

In mercy grant the penitent 

A sign of Thy all saving power, 

Of heaven and earth the sweetest gift, 

Thy presence felt in humble heart, 

No fire came down from opened skies, 
No roaring wind, no rushing sound. 
Made answer to his fervent prayer ; 
But in his inmost being heard, 
A living voice proclaimed: 'My child.* 
A voice that needed not the help 
Of tongue or lip for utterance. 
Now spoke to him, all words above, 
A thought of tenderness divine : 
' My child ! ' And in that word there was 
To him a bliss ineffable ; 
It was a covenant for a3^e. 
To which his soul, responding, vowed 
To be, and rest, and move in Him 
Who is eternal in the heavens. 

Confused noise near by was heard, 
And waking from his reverie 



150 IVELY. 

He learned the cause. A man had come, 
Fresh from the seat of war, Chanouje ; 
And ominous the news he told: 
* Avenging spirit's dreadful work, 
The shattered throne of Delhi's king 
Has buried in its crushing wreck 
The throne and crown of 'Chund, his 
foe.' 

*How may that be? Who rules 

Chan<5uje 
And who at Delhi rules ? ' 

' The Afghan ! 
Soon after Chund, King of Chan6uje, 
The deadly net of w:ir had thrown 
O'er Delhi's prince, he called on Ghor, 
The Afghan king, to aid his cause. 
Brave Prithowra in battle killed, 
And Delhi conquered — fate of wars, 
The storm Chund Ray had conjured up. 
He could not stay. The Afghans turned 
Against their ally, overthrew, 



IVELT, 151 

A countless horde, their enemy. 
King Ohund in flight his life to save, 
The holy stream essayed to ford ; 
But never forded he the stream. 
Accepted sacrifice, it kept 
And bore to Yama's realm his soul ; 
While Ghor, on wings of victory 
His forces threw upon Chanouje 
And took the city by assault, 
The pride of ages, pride of pride, 
Chan6uje, the holy, queen of queens, 
Was sacked and burned.' 

Lord Ively knew 
The hermit's word had been fulfilled, 
And vocal through his soul it rang : 
' When in the dust of memory 
Proud monuments of hoar}^ days. 
And thrones, once strong as rocks, are 

laid. 
Nigh, then, thy life's sublimest hour. 
The light of heaven will break on thee.' 



L52 iv±:ly. 



BOOK XIV. 

*Tis eventide ; the scene, a home 
At Darishman rebuilt — Ahmed's. 
The pilgrim-knight is there ; beside, 
Adele and Ahmed, Gar and Lola. 
And Khidder is with them — he 
Whom they had wept for as one lost, 
Whom they had mourned for as one 

dead — 
He is again among his dear ones. 
Their hearts are full, fast flows their 

speech. 
As children, school-hoar over, run, 
A hungry swarm, and chattering, 
To mother dear for vesper lunch, 
Thus comes to Khidder now a rush 
Of anxious Hows ? and Whens ? anc. 

Whys ? 



IVELT, 153 

Which he must haste to satisfy 
With Thus, and Then, and Therefor 
meet. 

And through the questions, answers 

made. 
There flashed and glowed the light 

divine. 
The rays of kindliness and love, 
And shone on ev'ry happy face. 
It was a sacred feast of love ; 
And all that broke the bread together. 
And poured the wine, most worthy were 
In it to join. 

' To Teheran, 
I had been sold,' brave Khidder said, 
' This very day it is two months. 
Beside the oxen, now my charge, 
I walked, in dusty road, cast down, 
Bewailing my sad fate and yours. 
Behind me came, what seemed to be 
A Hindu of the highest caste — 



154 IVELY. 

Who, hailing me, asked of his way. 
I answered, but he tarried yet. 
An Arab or a Kurd, he thought, 
I must be, by my speech to judge. 
And, for my country bound, he asked. 
Would not his road lie through Mos6ul ? 
Rejoiced to meet a friendly soul 
Through whom I might (if so it were, 
That one of you had yet been spared) 
Send home a message, I took heart 
And told the traveller who I was — 
The stranger, — by your looks I see 
You've guessed aright, he's with ns now, 
With pains incredible had traced 
My track from town to town. 'Tis he 
Obtained my liberty. 'Tis he 
Has brought about this joyful hour.' 

As thirsty men, come to a well. 
The bucket in its depth send down, 
Feel it on trembling hands to fill. 
Then bring it, dripping, to the light, 



IVELY. 155 

And eager drink the cooling draught, 
S(^ thirsty they, for Khidder's words. 
And eager, drank tlieir meaning in. 
Thus filled their hearts a sacred joy. 
As liim they loved, new cause to love 
They found. 

Till rosy dawn of day 
Were busy tongues and list' n in g ears. 
Brave Ahmed of his conquests spoke: 
How he had made a safe return ; 
From robber liands had Darishman 
In bloodless strife regained, and won, 
Besides, peace to insure, the lands 
Of Pizhder, Mergeli and Mawiitt. 
Frightened by lumor of his strength, 
When Fakih Ahmed marched on them, 
The Bulbassis had sued for peace 
Ere he had reached a frontier town ; 
And with their help were soon subdued 
The smaller tribes. 

'But now, my friends, 
The sun stands high — to rest ! all ye 



156 IVELY. 

That will obey. Tu sweetest dreams 
I send my guests.' 

Thus spake Adelo 
And all withdrew, save her and Ively. 

' Thanks be to thee, beloved cousin,' 
She brightly said, ' Adele has found 
The gohlen gate of paradise.' 

Iveli/. — ' And met the angel's flaming 
sword ? ' 

Adele. — ' Yea,met the sword and con- 
quered it.' 
Siie smiled her gentle answer back : 
' As it in all directions turned, 
A bar across the entrance stretched ; 
In letters black, on shining hilt, 
The legend " Weakness " could be seen, 
And as I read it, I lost heart. 
But looking up in the fair face 
Of him that held it in his hand, 
I saw the light of grace was there, 



IVELT. 157 

And, bolder grown, I said to bim : 
' Oh, let me pass, for duty calls 
'J'hy sister in and love. To earth 
The weapon sunk, the angel smiled 
And I went in.— But, Ively, pray. 
Hast thou in Eastern countries found 
The hermit's promise ? Oh, how oft 
In quiet hours of thee I've thought 
And of thy quest so perilous ! ' 

Ively.—' Though perilous, God pros- 
pered it.' 
And, slowly pacing up and down 
The garden walk he told her all. 
' A woman true, hast thou, Adele, 
Found in the narrow sphere of home 
What I, thy would-be-teacher sought. 
And seeking found, 'neath distant skies.' 

Adele.— 'As to the stalwart son of Kish, 
To us, 'twas given far more to find 
Than either of us thought to ask.' 



158 IVELY. 

Ively. — 'And richer both, by mutual 
gifts 
Blest sharers of abundant wealth, 
We've learned to find at home, abroad. 
The kingdom of the living God.' 



Glad days were they that Ively spent 
At Darishman. Too fast they fled. 
Dame Happiness, her favorites 
Satiety's dull pain to spare, 
E'er shortens, while she favors them, 
The days to hours, the months to days. 
And thus it happened, one fair morn, 
— The first that Lola saw a wife — 
Lord Ively, looking on the trees. 
Beheld them dyed in gaudy tints 
Of festive autumn, realized 
His year of pilgrimage was o'er, 
The hermit was awaiting him, 
And when ? Oh, when ? should he again 
The dear home-faces see ? 



IVELY. 159 

His friends 
To please, he hid his thought from them ; 
But Ahmed, his distress divining, 
' Dear guest,' he said, ' forgive thy hosts 
A stratagem they used, in hope 
To keep thee longer in their midst.' 

Lord Ively looked at him perplexed. 

Ahmed. — 'Thy heart, we knew, no 
longer was 
In what they call the holy war. 
That war is ended.' 

Iveli/. — ' Say'st thou so ? ' 

Ahmed, — ' A week we have it from 
thee kept. 
No longer were it right to hide 
From thee the tidings of glad peace ! ' 

The news incredulously heard, 
Adele confirmed : ' Tis surely so ! 
The king has signed a three-years' peace. 



160 IVELT. 

Already has he, and his queen 
From Ptolemais sailed for home ? 

' It was a hopeless cause we fought,' 
The knight said low, ' and glad am I 
The sword is sheathed. More free, 1 

may 
Return and lead a life of peace 
On Scotland's heather-covered moors. 
Blest life, to serve my God and man ! ' 

He could but see the grief he caused. 
While strangely moved, he feeling said : 
* There is no rest for homesick man, 
Save in the cause af his unrest. 
His own sweet home, be 't e'er so poor. 
And much desire I, too, to see 
The blessed hermit's saintly face ; 
I know he is awaiting me. 
Once more to press his hand in mine, 
And give him thanks, his rocky cave 
I'll seek before, at last, I sail 



IVELY. 161 

For Western shore and Scotland's hills.* 
***** 
Again 'tis night, as it was then, 
When Ively and the hermit climbed 
The lonely hill, a year ago. 
And as alone he climbs it now. 
Uncertain in the weird white light, 
The seats of stone before the cave 
He faintly sees, and speeds his pace. 
The scene, unchanged from that he left; 
But not a trace of him lie finds, 
Whom he had fondly lioped to meet. 
In vain he calls, and breathless listens. 
Naught breaks the solemn requiem 
The night is singing to the day. 
No human voice to anxious ears 
Accords a greeting. ' Far and faint 
Re-echoes through the glen his cry : 
' Not here ? Not here ! ' 
Then to the cave his steps he bends, 
The stone before, with trembling hands, 

He rolls away, and, lo ! beholds, 
11 



162 IVELY, 

Bright shining in the silvery light, 
The hermit's lifeless form ! Like one 
That borrows time from nightly rest, 
His head has sunk upon the Book. 
Lord Ively on the paichment glancing, 
In letters bold and square, tliere reads : 
' I pray that they be one with Thee 
As we are one.' . . . . ' O love divine ! 
Thy prayer is heard ! ' he cries and 
weeps. 

In lofty branches, faintly stirred. 
Was heard the gentle breath of even ; 
Across the vaulted firmament 
There brightly sped a brilliant star ; 
A tremor running through his frame, 
As he laid down his pilgrim staff, 
The knight knelt down, his soul a 
prayer. 

THE END. 



NOTES 



Book IY.— Some of the leading incidents in 
this and the following Books, referring to Fakih 
Ahmed and Keighan (Adele), are found in "Nar- 
rative of a Residence in Koordistan," by the 
late Claudius James Rich, Esqr., The Hon. East 
India Company's Resident in Bagdad (James 
Duncan, London, 1834, vol. 1, p. 292, f.) 

Book X. — The war between Delhi and Cha- 
nouje and the destruction of the two capitals 
took place 1186-1191. 

Book XIII. — The hymn sung at Naga's pyre 
is based on passages from the Atharva Veda. 

Book XIV.— "I pray that they be one with 
Thee as we are one," see John XVII, 20, f. 



